


A Wish and a Wardstone

by vivi1138



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 25 Days of Harry and Draco 2020, Bisexual Harry Potter, Business Owner Harry Potter, Christmas, Did I say it was fluffy?, Don't add to Goodreads, Don't copy to another site, Early Bird 25 Days of Harry and Draco 2020, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Journalist Draco Malfoy, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Mild Smut, More Fluff, POV Alternating, Post-War, Roommates, SO MUCH FLUFF, Some Plot, Trans Character, Weird Magic, but mostly it's fluff, maybe too much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 25,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27685967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivi1138/pseuds/vivi1138
Summary: Draco makes a wish and it has unexpected consequences.A fluffy winter tale filled with hot drinks, warm blankets, and cuddles.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 236
Kudos: 275
Collections: 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020





	1. Feathers and Icing Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020! The story is complete and I’ll be posting 1 chapter every day until December 25th!  
> \-----------------  
> Prompt for this chapter: 
> 
>   
> (image: Gingerbread men)

Cooking in the wizarding world could be a hazardous occupation. When a regal Eagle Owl dropped a letter in the bowl of icing and proceeded to shed feathers all over the kitchen counter, Harry threw a shield charm so potent it made Teddy’s blue hair stand up straight. Biting back a string of curses Teddy was too young to hear, Harry grabbed the bowl as sticky little fingers reached inside.

“Sweetheart, don’t eat that.”

Teddy frowned. His hair sparked, alight with static. “It’s just a feather.”

“Yes, and that’s only sugar and lemon. I’ll make a new batch.”

The child glared at the owl, whose unimpressed hoot reminded Harry of Hermione when someone tried to find an excuse for being late. “Grandma always says wasting food is _unseemly_.”

“She’s right, but you don’t want bits of feathers on your biscuits, do you?” Harry flicked his wand and Vanished the stray feathers and the content of the bowl before mixing icing sugar and lemon. “There! Good as new.”

With the shield dispelled, Teddy’s hair went back to normal. He climbed onto the stool and grabbed a gingerbread man and a brush, and went back to decorating his creations. Some of the biscuits were darker than they should be, and Harry blamed the old oven and its messed-up magic. They’d still taste good though. They certainly made the entire house smell delicious.

“If you don’t read it, the owl will peck you, and you’ll cry like a baby,” Teddy warned.

Harry wanted to tell him that a magical owl would do no such thing, but a glance at the bird told him otherwise. How could a feathered fluffball look so deadly? He let out a sigh, sat back down, opened the crisp envelope, and snorted.

_Potter._

_Did you know, if you wish for something with all your heart, it can actually happen?_

Of course, it would be Malfoy. Why in Merlin’s name did Harry expect anything else with such a bad-tempered owl? Perhaps Harry was being unfair. Draco hadn’t been a prat in a long time. Since the Death Eater trials, seven years ago, to be exact. Harry had seen him more than once at Andromeda’s house when Draco and Narcissa had sought refuge there—with the Manor confiscated, they’d had nowhere else to go. Then when Narcissa had fled to France and Draco got the Manor back, he’d still visited to see Teddy grow up, and while they weren’t that close, Harry considered him a friend. A prickly, dramatic, snobby friend, but a friend all the same. They’d reached a mutual understanding after that awkward moment when Draco had caught him reverting to his stalkerish tendencies—but Harry couldn’t help it! He’d just found out Draco had been hired as a columnist for the same Quidditch magazine as Ginny! He had to check if he was up to something.

Harry shook his head and kept reading.

_I mean to say, be careful what you wish for._

_See, I despise parsnip. As a child, if I didn’t want any, it would disappear. Did you know accidental magic is merely rare for adults, not impossible? I did not._

_The point, dearest Saviour, is that sometimes, magic hears a prayer, and decides to lend a hand. Of course, Vanishing a parsnip must not have required much assistance, but picture, if you will, a sizable parsnip._

Biting his lower lip, Harry felt a bubble of laughter at the back of his throat.

_I don’t mean a Basilisk-sized parsnip, but one that could crush half of Hogwarts under its weight._

“You nutter, what did you do?” Harry murmured.

“Who’s a nutter?”

He eyed Teddy from the side, noticing with amusement that the child had smeared so much icing on one of the biscuits that it now resembled a shapeless blob. “That one will get soggy.” Teddy ignored him. Eager to know more about the giant parsnip of doom, Harry straightened the parchment and found the last sentence he’d read.

 _—one that could crush half of Hogwarts under its weight._ _It could have its uses if it didn’t rot, but it does, so what will you do with it? It would take the entire wizarding population of Britain to Vanish it with a wand, and it’s not like those plebeians find me tolerable enough to help me. No, at best, they’d kill me. At worst, they’d have heard about my hatred of parsnip and would dig a hole inside the giant parsnip and seal me inside, condemning me to eat my way out or die of parsnip suffocation._

_I trust you not to use my one true weakness against me._

_The point is, with a castle-sized parsnip on my hands, there’s nothing I can do. I might be tempted, then, to revert to the childish hope that perhaps, a higher power would lend me a hand._

_Well, I am here to tell you that magic may, indeed, answer._

Harry’s eyes had widened quite a bit as he struggled to keep a straight face. It was a feat that he’d managed it until now.

_So, Potter, you may ask, what in Circe’s name is he on about? Well, Something big did vanish. Something that could, indeed, crush a good portion of Hogwarts. I’m talking about Malfoy Manor._

_Yes. My house, headquarters of the Dark Lord, has been a breeding ground for foul magic and creatures such as ghouls, ever since He set foot inside and started using the place as His personal playground. As you can imagine, living there is not the same as it used to be._

_I have not slept well in a while. I strengthen the wards daily, but unspeakable horrors still pop up in every room._

Harry’s burgeoning smile turned into a frown. He’d tried to convince him to stay at Andromeda’s house when the Ministry gave him back his home. Due to Harry’s attunement to magical lands, he was aware of how dark magic polluted these old Death Eater houses and short of destroying them, there wasn’t much one could do about it. It was one of the things that had convinced him to hone his ability to command old earth magic to rebuild on cleansed ground. He’d heard it was how Hogwarts had been built; the Founders all possessed that skill. It was a sought-after talent among magical construction workers.

_I am grateful that you kept me from rotting in Azkaban, but living here is, in these circumstances, similar. I couldn’t stand it anymore._

_I wished it all away._

_The ground literally swallowed the house and the gardens, peacocks included. This confirms my suspicions about these birds being possessed by the souls of the damned. The ground even burped in the end, as unseemly as it sounds. Now my land is a barren landscape, and I sit there with my owl and the few belongings I managed to save, writing to you because I don’t know what to do._

_In short, I am currently living in the boathouse, and you’re the only one I trust to assist me with building a new manor. You did, after all, do a remarkable job with the wizarding orphanage._

_Spitefully yours,_

_Draco L. Malfoy_

“You’re making a face.”

Harry folded the parchment and put it back in the envelope, then smiled at Teddy. “It’s from your cousin.”

Sticking his tongue out, Teddy drew a bow on one of the biscuits. “Cousin Draco says I need to reply to every letter very fast and that it’s unpolite to make people wait.”

“Impolite.” Harry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of worry for Draco. Did he still have control of the land or would dangerous creatures be attracted to its magic? Old Pureblood properties had wards for a reason! Was the wardstone gone as well? What was the boathouse like? Winter had come early this year, much earlier than usual, and had brought ice-cold temperatures, colder than Harry had ever seen outside of the Scottish Highlands. A boathouse sounded like it’d be wet and freezing. “ _Accio_ fountain pen and parchment,” he said, catching the items when they flew across the kitchen.

Teddy moved the trays to give him some space, telling Harry about Draco’s inevitable rage if he received a sticky letter.

Harry wrote only a few lines, knowing Draco wouldn’t expect anything else from him. He wasn’t a letter-writing person. Sue him.

_Malfoy,_

_Next time, just write “I need help”, instead of going on about parsnips._

_I’ll be there in the afternoon, Teddy is with me until then. If you don’t have your wardstone, you need to find it and keep it somewhere safe._

_Harry_

Then he gave the letter to the cranky owl and focused on decorating more biscuits, even if his worry was growing.


	2. The Boathouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: A man wearing a red Christmas sweater with two male reindeers shagging.)

The boathouse of Malfoy Manor had been built on the pond that Father insisted on calling a lake when Draco was too small to stare at him in disbelief. “Pond” wasn’t posh enough; telling people that yes, indeed, the Manor’s grounds included a lake was much more dignified. 

It was where the small sailing boat and the gondola were stored, but also where their human warden, a Squib who’d been killed by the Dark Lord, had been living. He’d taken care of the plants around the property for as long as Draco could remember. He’d also been civil when Draco had shown him nothing but disdain and had messed around the boathouse to annoy him.

It was a sturdy little building with a living space that made it look like a tool shed more than a home, and it was cursed with sweltering heat in summer and freezing temperatures in winter. Back in the days, the elves would use magic to regulate the air, but there were no elves left. Draco was on his own, and he was _cold_.

He hadn’t lied in his letter to Potter. He’d been in the parlour, disgusted as he’d just spotted a stain that must’ve been old blood in a corner, and he’d snapped. After the zombie peacocks lurking into the night with their shiny red eyes, the echoes of screams that still lingered in the corridors, and the shadow of Charity Burbage spinning above the dinner table, helpless and broken, he’d had enough. He’d wished it gone, and there it went. Draco had been spat out, teleported in the safest place within the wards—the grove near the boathouse—with the belongings he’d accumulated since the Dark Lord’s defeat. The only items lacking any hint of _His_ aura.

He’d dragged everything inside the boathouse and was now left with a few low-quality robes, a series of useless Quidditch magazines, a bunch of books and toiletries, and one pair of Dragonhide boots. Why the boathouse had been left unscathed by that insanity alluded him. The warden had been killed inside the Manor, so perhaps none of the Death Eaters had ever used foul magic around the pond. All that mattered was that Draco had a roof over his head while he pondered what to do next. Writing to Potter had been a spur of the moment thing. Pansy would blame his Potter obsession and his inability to go more than a few weeks without knowing what Scarhead was up to. Draco disagreed. He wasn’t _obsessed_ ; he enjoyed Potter’s company. There was a difference. 

The clock was ticking. Draco attempted to warm his hands by breathing on them and rubbing them together, but it didn’t help much, so he paced in the small space until he felt the tingling of the wards allowing Potter through. There was a crack as Potter Apparated from the inner edge of the wards to the boathouse.

Upon opening the door, Draco thought Potter’s dark green winter cloak was the best piece of clothing the other man owned. “Thanks for coming,” Draco suppressed a wince, aware of the unholy mess around him.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He’d found a Christmas jumper in the warden’s cupboard. It was bright red with two male reindeers in the process of _coupling_ , and Draco knew that if Lucius had ever seen the warden wearing it, the man would’ve been a permanent guest in the dungeons, at best. Draco couldn’t care less if the jumper was too big and distasteful, it kept his upper body from turning to ice. He ignored Potter’s thoughtless comment and closed the door behind him.

“That’s all you could save?” Potter asked after taking a quick look around. 

“Magic’s generous gift. My recently acquired belongings. Otherwise known as, why did I get rid of so many clothes when my vault is frozen until 2010?” Draco kicked an empty box of fish bait and crossed his arms on his chest, only relaxing when Potter’s Warming Charm hit him. He tilted his head with a question in his eyes.

Potter shrugged. “You look cold.” Taking a tin out of his pocket and enlarging it, he handed it to Draco. “From Teddy.”

As always when it came to his adorable cousin, Draco’s heart melted and ruined his snarky persona. The Sarcastic Sneering Act no longer worked on Potter and hadn’t in years, but it seemed to amuse him, and Draco lived to see that spark, that twitch on the corner of Potter’s very kissable lips. There was a scenario brewing already, fuel for his dreams tonight. Potter, Draco, the boathouse, the workbench, Potter offering to share his warmth—okay, perhaps Pansy had a point. Draco opened the tin so he would have something else to think about. A myriad of gingerbread men stared at him with their sugary eyes and stupid smiles, and Draco crammed one in his mouth before he could think about blurting out how cutely misshaped they were. Potter, meanwhile, pretended to be fascinated by the jars of preserved pond creatures on the shelves. The warden had been a collector of oddities.

Brushing crumbs off his jumper, Draco closed the tin and put it on the tiny kitchen counter, between a pile of chipped teacups and an array of potion vials. “Before you panic, yes, the wardstone is safe.” And it was. Draco had no wish to see the lands turned into a copy of the Forbidden Forest, Acromantulas included. But no self-respecting wizard would dare ask to see it, and Potter had learned some manners since school. Draco thus had no need to open the sealed box hidden under the bed. “I apologise for the mess. It’s not mine,” he found himself saying when Potter grimaced and stepped away from a dead moth pinned on the wall.

“I was about to say it reminded me of the Burrow, but I changed my mind.”

Draco had no idea how the Burrow looked, for all he’d criticised it as a child, but he was mildly horrified by the comparison. “So, you see why I need your assistance.”

“I’m not sure why you’re not doing it yourself.” Potter’s inquisitive gaze did _things_ to Draco’s insides and now was not the time. 

Bristling, Draco considered telling him how he could do it if Potter didn’t want to help, but the truth was, Draco sucked at Conjuration. He’d earned excellent results in school because his creations weren’t meant to last, but building an entire house was completely different from making a quill appear out of thin air. Some people (aka Potter) were gifted with stable magic on top of that rare ability to manipulate the land and shape it into buildings. Draco was not one of them. He shared his thoughts as if they didn’t embarrass him, and still, he felt the telltale heat of a flush on his neck and ears. Pansy would say he attached too much importance to Potter’s opinion of him. She’d be right. 

And Potter, as a noble Gryffindor, didn’t mock Draco’s weak Transfiguration abilities. “Show me around? I want to get a feel of the place.”

Draco wrapped himself up in several layers of mismatched clothes and led Potter outside in the snow. 


	3. (In)convenient Weather Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:   
>   
> (Image: A large building surrounded by snow-covered trees.)

Twenty minutes into the tour of the Manor grounds, Harry duplicated his gloves and handed them to Malfoy. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d say Malfoy was all right with this situation, but of course, he wasn’t, he just pretended it didn’t bother him. Draco Malfoy would never enjoy living in a bloody hovel. At first glance, it shared similarities with the Burrow, but only on the surface. It reminded Harry more of Hagrid’s humble abode, but at least the things in the jars were dead. He hadn’t expected something so miserable when he’d Apparated, and he worried for Malfoy’s health if he stayed there any longer. Sure, warming charms existed, but they only lasted so long. Malfoy had looked so thin and pale in his oversized jumper that Harry had wanted to bundle him up and force him to sit in front of a roaring fire. Merlin, he was turning into Molly Weasley.

As they walked together, Harry kept casting subtle spells to keep him warm because Malfoy didn’t want to expose his hands to the elements to wave his wand. It delighted Harry that Malfoy had swallowed his pride to ask him for help, but it said a lot about his desperation since Malfoy was so hung up on the Fiendfyre life-debt and hated owing anyone anything. Especially Harry.

The snow crunched under their feet thanks to a weather-controlling spell, something many ancient families used on their lands to give them an enchanting look when the grass and flowers died. Given the geographical location of Wiltshire, there was no way snow would hold until spring each year. There was also a tiny little detail that made the spell quite annoying: once it was cast, it stayed there. Nobody, Unspeakable or Charm Master, had been able to dismantle one. Even when it malfunctioned, it always repaired itself. Malfoy Manor was thus blessed by pure white snow and freezing temperatures from late November to March, even if the temperature outside of the wards soared. Very inconvenient for Draco at the moment.

Harry observed the wide expanse of nothing. He didn’t have many memories of the exterior of the Manor, having only been there twice in his life, and he now wondered what it had been like to grow up with so much space. The property, once overlooked by that sprawling mansion, was nothing but a humongous snowy field dotted with oaks and fir trees, and it made it appear even bigger than Harry remembered. While Harry wasn’t an architect, the potential of such a space made him giddy, and he was eager to dig into the power of the land to see what his magic would come up with. He’d felt similarly about the orphanage, his first project after he quit Auror training and launched his consultation business ( _“Haunted lands? New owner of a cursed home? Contact us today and book a visit from our Land Examiners”_ ).

H.E.A.L.E.R., or Haunted Edifices Assessment and Land Examination for Restoration (thanks, Hermione) was very much in demand these days. Many wizarding families relocated to properties having belonged to people who would be in Azkaban for the rest of their lives. Harry’s line of work also allowed him to collaborate with his friends—Ron, as an Auror, had his back during the assessments; Bill and Fleur took care of any curse Harry wasn’t able to deal with; Hermione handled the legal aspect of his job, and even Neville participated if dangerous magical plants threatened the assessor.

Truth be told, Harry knew Malfoy wouldn’t have contacted his firm even if his money wasn’t currently held hostage by the Ministry. It was a matter of dignity. So, calling on Harry as a friend had been the next best thing. Harry didn’t need more Galleons, and he’d been itching to take a look at this place, so he’d have come even if he hadn’t been on good terms with the pointy Slytherin.

Said Slytherin had a wistful expression when they reached a small hilltop, and Harry found his attention diverted from the admittedly gorgeous landscape to Malfoy’s delicate features. A snowflake was stuck on his long, dark brown eyelashes, and the tip of his nose was pink from the cold. He had the aristocratic facial structure of a Black, more obvious now that he was older—and while his grey eyes often reminded Harry of Sirius, under the pale sun, they were adorned with specks of blue, like dots of paint swimming in liquid silver. Harry had to look away before he made a fool of himself since Malfoy had developed a sixth sense to detect when Harry was staring.

“I’ll have to wait until your climate spell melts that snow,” Harry said in an attempt to appear competent, and not like a drooling mess. He gestured at the expense of land. “Do you want to let magic create a home, or give it specific instructions?”

Malfoy’s eyes flicked towards him. “You can do that?”

“It’s more complicated, but yes. If you let magic decide, you don’t know what you’ll end up with, but that’s what I’d do if I bought some land. The results are interesting.” That was how the Burrow had been created, after all.

“Why don’t you?”

Excellent question. Harry wasn’t sure. He shrugged and balled his gloved fists in his pockets, then relaxed them, choosing not to respond. “Whatever you want, I can’t get the foundations up if I can’t see the soil.” He spotted the instant Malfoy tensed. “You’re planning on living in that boathouse until then, aren’t you?”

“I don’t have a choice.” The wind blew Malfoy’s hair away from his face. “I refuse to impose on Aunt Andromeda again.”

“You’re a nutter.” A stubborn, handsome nutter. Before Harry could think, he blurted the only reasonable proposition: “Come to my place.”

Eyes narrowing, Malfoy pondered the idea. “Potter, that spell will last until spring.”

“Well, then you’ll stay all winter.” Harry may need to make an offering to a Malfoy ancestor for setting up the spell. His body was vibrating in excitement.

“I’ll think about it.”

There was a soft smile gracing Malfoy’s lips. Bollocks, but Harry’s crush was getting out of hand. His mind turned into a whirlwind as he planned on decorating his best guest room. Malfoy liked light and airy spaces, and the master bedroom in Grimmauld Place had a huge window with a view of the back garden. Yes, it would work just fine.


	4. An Omen of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (image: a cardinal on a snowy tree branch)

Draco lasted another night, but he woke up with a runny nose, a fever, and a throat so sore he could taste blood on his tongue. The mattress hurt his back, and he tried to find a more comfortable position, groaning in discomfort. Buried under a mountain of clothes and an old quilt, he couldn’t find the strength to get up and go to work. Sure, he could drink some Pepper-Up, but he could also pretend he didn’t have any. The boathouse was sapping his energy. 

He reached blindly for his wand. Picturing the first time he’d held baby Edward Lupin, he cast his Patronus (a fox. Mother had taught him). “Tell Wood I’m sick.” He then proceeded to cough his lungs out.

Oliver Wood, who’d created _The Weekly Snitch_ magazine after an accident ended his career with Puddlemere United, would understand. He might even send him a get-well-soon card. He was the quintessential Gryffindor, which suited Draco just fine in these circumstances. All his coworkers were. Draco had no idea what he’d done to warrant being surrounded by Gryffindors all day long, but at least the Weaselette liked him, and Katie Bell had stopped staring at him like he was about to hex everyone she loved. 

Casting a spell had woken him enough to make the uncomfortable mattress unbearable to lie on, so he sat up with a loud sigh and rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t ready to leave his cocoon. 

He did need the bathroom, though. Perhaps, if he ran, the covers would still be warm when he came back. Warming Charms were not the same and they made his skin itch when he cast them himself. 

Resolving to sit in bed until the need became impossible to ignore, he coughed again, and let his head fall back against the wall. He’d often acted stupidly to save his pride and his honour as a Malfoy—when being a Malfoy still meant something. Accepting Potter’s help when Draco was the one who’d asked him to visit in the first place should not make him want to hide in shame. He wasn’t even sure it was shame. Perhaps a little? Embarrassment at his own lack of courage, mostly. He should have taken a bag and followed Potter straight away instead of being stubborn and staying here. But now he had a crush on him again, old dormant emotions rearing their imbecilic heads after a walk in the snow. Those feelings were never far from the surface. They surged at the most inconvenient moments because Potter was fit, and kind, and sassy, and great with Teddy, and unfairly intense. 

So, could Draco survive sharing a home with the man he lusted after? It went beyond lust, which was part of the problem. There were _Other Things_ attached. He wouldn’t be satisfied with a workbench adventure. Draco, who clung to his celibacy like barnacles to a rock, had rather traditional ideas on relationships. He also, like any Slytherin worth his salt, tended to grab onto people who mattered to him and refuse to let go. Avoiding the truth, preventing himself from blundering and asking Potter out, was pure self-preservation. Potter had dated quite a few people for short periods, so he wouldn’t be suitable for Draco, who only sought long-term romance.

But freezing his arse off in the boathouse endangered his health. Under these circumstances, he could control himself and push Potter away. 

It was the right thing to do. 

He pointed his wand at the floor to warm the tiles, then hopped in search of his thickest pair of socks. The old kettle whistled by the time he’d gone to the bathroom, downed a potion and got dressed, and he sat on a creaking chair by the window with a cup of Earl Grey, feeling like he’d accomplished something. Leaving seemed like a simple decision, but it involved too many variables and risks and was, in fact, more complicated than it appeared. His coworkers would tell him Slytherins liked to overthink—even Pansy sometimes said so. But if Draco didn’t go through every possible scenario on how a situation could turn into a disaster, he would be unprepared, and there was nothing worse than facing the unknown.

He looked outside at the bleak grey skies. The holly tree by the window sagged under the weight of the snow. “You agree, don’t you?” he muttered in a scratchy voice as he spotted a beautiful bird preening its red feathers. Non-magical animals had deserted the Manor and its grove, but magical creatures thrived without the presence of the Dark Lord. The bird looked like a cardinal, but Draco was sure he’d seen it in a Care of Magical Creatures book before. Something about omens of hope. 

He drank a sip and clucked his tongue. His breath was visible. “Fuck this. _Accio_ quill, ink and parchment.”

_Potter,_

_You win. I demand a decent bed, a full stock of Pepper-Up potions, and I expect a hot drink when I get there._

_Coldly yours,_

_Draco L. Malfoy_

He didn’t bother with an envelope. Who cared, at this point? “Regulus, wake up.” 

The owl roosting on the shelf with the collection of creepy jars fluffed his feathers and hooted in indignation. It took some convincing to make him move.

“I’ll get you a big, juicy mouse,” Draco promised, waving his letter until Regulus swooped in and flew away through the owl chute. The red bird flew side by side with him until Draco could no longer see them.

Draco flicked his wand at the mess around him to start packing. When he was done, he penned a brief letter to Pansy, cringing at the thought of her high-fiving Blaise and Greg, and taking bets on when Draco would end up in Potter’s bed. She would never let him live it down if he hid Potter’s generous offer from her, so Draco was wise enough to tell her instead of letting her find out—he’d never survive her wrath otherwise. He waited for Regulus to come back and hoped he wouldn’t get pecked to death for daring to send him on two errands in one day.

When a stag Patronus burst into his living space a few hours later to tell him the house was ready, Draco grabbed his bag and without a backwards glance, Apparated to Islington.


	5. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: A cup overflowing with a sugary drink topped with whipped cream and some kind of chocolate or caramel coulis)

Harry was a nervous wreck. He’d gone to work that morning after instructing Kreacher to get the house ready for Malfoy’s arrival, and he’d been so distracted he’d messed up a file. The extensive report on Mrs Slezáková’s cursed greenhouse and the plans she’d submitted for its new build were now lost. With Harry’s luck when it came to administrative tasks, they’d be stuck in one of the massive folders of his most nightmarish cases.

“I said I was sorry, I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Warrington was not impressed, as he had the afternoon shift and would need to find the files. “Not running off would be a start.”

Harry sighed. “If it wasn’t important, you know I’d stay.” Harry was a responsible person who didn’t mind working a few extra hours to fix his own messes, after all. He only worked in the morning unless there was some fieldwork planned, so it didn’t bother him to spend more time at the office. It was _his_ business, and he cared about it. “A Sorting Charm would be handy right now.”

Warrington’s bushy eyebrows rose until they disappeared under his fringe. He didn’t say a word, and he didn’t need to. Harry remembered all too well what happened the last time he’d used magic to sort through a drawer. Ink tended to react in disastrous ways.

“Anyway,” Harry checked the time and swallowed his guilt at having to leave, “I’m off. Can anyone find me the original plans of Malfoy Manor? It’s not urgent.”

The sound of the typewriter at the back of the room stopped. “Ooh, how interesting!” Lavender’s smirk could be heard in the tone of her voice, and it made Harry blush. Everyone—friends, acquaintances, employees—knew of his crush. Hermione would say he’d been too obvious about it.

“The Ministry should have a copy. I’ll head over there if you bring us breakfast from Goyle’s tomorrow.” Warrington sneered when Lavender levitated her latest report and sent it on top of the pile on his desk. He grabbed it and waved it at Harry. “Oh, and you can do me a favour and handle that case next week.”

Harry buttoned his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck, glancing at the parchment and repressing a groan. Farley Manor was one of the more complicated projects they’d taken on because of a persistent infestation of garden gnomes bent on undoing their progress. Warrington’s grin showed too many teeth and Harry refrained from sticking his tongue out like a child. “Garden gnome duty, got it. Enjoy your afternoon.”

Lavender winked. “You too, Harry!”

He Apparated in the alley behind his favourite coffee shop and made his way inside. The new kid behind the counter turned bright red and sputtered a greeting, and Harry was grateful that as obvious as he was about Malfoy, it was _that_ bad. He glanced up at the menu above the till, which boasted a “make your own drink” option, then thought back on Malfoy’s sugar addiction and decided to let the worker’s creativity flow.

“Hey, can I get a vanilla latte and the most decadent drink you can think of? I’m talking, dripping syrup and candies and whipped cream. No allergies.”

“Y—yes, sir!” Merlin, that blush was getting worse. “Each topping costs extra.”

“That’s fine. Do your worst. To go, please.”

Amused, he watched the employee prepare a gooey mess. At the other till, a young teen with a lip ring and heavy make-up stared at Harry in disgust before ordering a coffee (“make it dark, like my soul!”) and sneering in an attempt to appear intimidating. Harry bit his lower lip so he wouldn’t laugh.

“There you are, sir! One vanilla latte, and one hot chocolate with hazelnut syrup, whipped cream, cinnamon, vanilla beans, chocolate shavings and roasted nuts.”

“Ugh, gross!” The teen stomped away with their coffee.

Harry snorted and thanked the employee. Once outside, he stepped into the alley again and cast a stasis charm on both drinks so they’d stay piping hot and appetising. Then he walked home, leaving the main street to find his way to the poshest area of Islington.

Kreacher had done an excellent job in the entrance hall; he’d dusted and repaired a lamp that Harry hadn’t realised was there, and the hallway was a bit more inviting now. Harry didn’t care much. Ever since he’d gotten rid of Walburga’s portrait and the revolting artefacts like the taxidermied troll leg, he’d been fine in this house. He’d filled it with the laughter of his godson and the company of friends, so he couldn’t care less about the gaudy porcelain and the colour of the walls. Besides, Teddy liked the house. He claimed it was like the ghost train at the fair. It said a lot that Harry would want to make some changes so Malfoy would be comfortable.

Harry put his shoes on the rack instead of leaving them across the floor, and hung his coat on a hook sculpted like a screaming ghoul. He brought the drinks in the parlour and left them on the table, before heading upstairs to check the master bedroom and en-suite bath. Kreacher was nowhere to be seen.

The sight of the room made him wish he’d chosen that one as his own space instead of selecting Sirius’. The bedding had been changed from its old-fashioned flowery style and was now pure white. Kreacher had swapped the heavy velvet curtains for a translucent fabric and had bought new candles, and the tapestry had been stripped to reveal dark wooden walls.

“Kreacher?”

The elf appeared with a pop. “Master Harry needs Kreacher?”

“Ah, yes. Thanks for the room, it’s nice.”

“Kreacher knows Master Malfoy’s tastes, yes he does, did Master Harry doubt Kreacher?”

“You know I would never. Listen, Draco doesn’t really have many clothes anymore, do you think Regulus would mind—”

Kreacher drew himself up and gasped. “Master Regulus would be honoured! Kreacher knows! Kreacher will go get Master Regulus clothes, yes, and he will be so happy that the beautiful Malfoy boy is wearing them!” With an excited and sinister cackle, he disappeared again.

Harry shook his head. Kreacher was one of a kind. He watched the empty wardrobe fill with elegant robes that should hopefully fit Draco, and he decided to check the pantry. No doubt Malfoy would appreciate a snack.

Harry had just filled a plate with a variety of biscuits, including a few of the gingerbread men, when the doorbell rang. He tripped over his own feet in his hurry to welcome his guest.

A gust of wind made Harry shudder as he opened the door. “Heya, Malfoy! Come in.” He stepped aside.

“Potter.” The first thing Malfoy did upon entering the house was sneeze, and Kreacher immediately pushed a potion in his hands with a horrified gasp. Malfoy stared at Harry, helpless as Kreacher dragged him away from the door. Harry watched the scene in confusion.

“Master Draco has caught a _cold_! Kreacher will take care of Master Draco, so Master Draco doesn’t die!”

“It’s just a runny nose—”

“Master Draco needs to shut up now. Kreacher is talking.”

“I’m fine!”

“Master Draco is not fine, what is Master Harry thinking, Master Harry should have brought Master Draco to Kreacher earlier, poor Master Regulus would be appalled, Master Harry has no sense of logic—”

Malfoy looked back at Harry with wide eyes. “Potter! I’m being kidnapped!”

“Er, Kreacher, it’s fine, could you take Draco’s bag to his room?”

The elf peered at him as if he expected to find some kind of deceit in Harry’s expression. “Master Harry wishes to endanger Master Draco?”

“I’ll make sure he drinks his potion.”

“Master Harry promises?”

“Yes, Kreacher.”

Kreacher let go of Malfoy, who sagged against the wall, shirt askew. “What the hell was that?” Malfoy murmured when Kreacher left, and Harry started laughing. Malfoy had met Kreacher before, but he’d never been at his mercy, and it had happened at Andromeda’s house, which Kreacher still considered enemy territory. The elf had been rather subdued.

“Insanity. Come on, I’ve bought something for you.”

Malfoy lit up. “Lead the way.”

Harry snickered as Malfoy kept glancing at every shadow as if he expected Kreacher to drag him into the darkness.


	6. Scones & Jam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (image: A man wearing a Christmas jumper with a text saying Jingle My Bells)

It was still early, and Draco had woken feeling immensely relieved: he could breathe in through his nose again! Good. He didn’t want to sneeze in Kreacher’s presence either, who knew what would happen. His throat still carried the remnant of his coughing fits, but it wouldn’t linger after another potion. At first, the thought of going to fetch a vial made Draco whine in dismay, but then he noticed he wasn’t cold at all, even as he walked barefoot on the wooden floor. All hail central heating. He rejoiced as he took a shower without dreading its end. He hadn’t felt this good in a while. He even took the time to release some tension, before pampering himself with the few products he’d brought with him. The light in the bathroom could use an upgrade, though.

After putting on a robe that had belonged to Regulus Black, according to the delicate letters etched on the inner pocket, he exited the bathroom in a cloud of vapour. He followed the scent of warm bread, sneering in distaste at the dark green tapestries plastered on the wall of the stairs. They were just as foul in the morning light.

Number 12, Grimmauld Place was a Victorian monstrosity. According to Mother’s childhood stories, the house used to give her nightmares, and Draco understood why. Potter had already modernised it and gotten rid of some of Mother’s least favourite features, yet it still felt very much like a Black family home. He was spared the sight of the house elves’ heads hanging on the wall, the portrait of Great Aunt Walburga or the various paintings depicting terrifying creatures and tortures. The place didn’t feel oppressive nor reeked of forbidden magic like he’d feared, but it still wasn’t pleasing to the eye, and he could imagine Mother wandering those long, narrow corridors in the dark, scared of whatever lurked in the shadows. She hated dark spaces; there was a reason why she’d always avoided the dungeons at the Manor.

A house like Grimmauld would be scary for a kid. If Draco hadn’t been living in terror for two years during the war, he might have been uneasy here, even without the distinctive decorations and cursed objects Mother had talked about. He guessed that Potter’s childhood had been too miserable for him to care much about the place, aside from making it safe for Teddy. At least Draco’s room had been fully refurbished and was brightly lit, if old-fashioned. He didn’t care for the view, however. In his life, the sight from his bedroom window had shown him the wonders of a luxurious garden, the strange and wonderful world below the surface of the Black Lake, and the enchanting riverbed behind Aunt Andromeda’s house. Seeing another row of townhouses beyond a small fenced garden had no appeal. Draco knew he should’ve been grateful, and he was, of course, but still. London was ugly. What would it take to convince Potter to ditch this place and move in with him once the Manor was rebuilt?

He found the kitchen with ease. Kreacher had set the table and was busy getting homemade scones out of the oven. He was humming, which was entirely creepy. Then he spotted Draco and offered him the worst smile in history, full of crooked yellow teeth, a gleam of madness in his bulbous eyes.

“Master Draco is being awake,” he cooed, plating the scones. “Kreacher has prepared Mistress Cissa’s favourites, yes he has, and Kreacher is hoping Master Draco shares Mistress Cissa’s impeccable taste! Master Draco must sit!”

“Where is Potter?” Draco went around the table to find a chair far away from the ancient servant, who followed him regardless, wringing his gnarly hands and cackling between unintelligible mutters. It would be just Draco’s luck to be murdered by Kreacher after his narrow escape from yesterday’s kidnapping attempt.

“I’m here.” Potter stepped into the room with a grin, hair wet from a shower, a towel still hanging around his neck. His presence was enough to keep Kreacher at bay, as the elf was now busy arranging ten different kinds of jams on the table.

Thank Merlin for small favours. Draco refused to show his relief. “Good Morning,” he said instead, and almost choked on his own spit. Potter was wearing a Christmas jumper with a questionable invitation to “jingle his bells” in bold font. “So, you criticise my jumper but look at yours! I hope you don’t wear it when my baby cousin can see.”

Potter removed the towel from his shoulders and sat. He grabbed a scone and slathered it with melting butter. “Yours had deers shagging. Do you have a point?” He bit into the scone with a grimace. “What’s wrong with bacon and eggs?”

“Yes, well, the jumper didn’t belong to me,” Draco replied with a sniff. “And it was two reindeers, please. I don’t care if it’s the same species, it’s still inaccurate.” Draco blinked, blushing at his own ridiculous excuse. He chose the best-looking scone and eyed Kreacher. “For future reference, I do have a preference for scrambled eggs in the morning too.”

Kreacher looked mutinous and vanished with a poisonous glare.

“What did I say?” Draco had never met an elf who showed any offence to his remarks.

“It’s Kreacher. You’ll get used to him.” Potter served him a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “Feeling better?”

“Unfortunately.” He’d have no excuse to miss work today. “Do you have another set of keys if I come home before you?”

“No keys, just wards. I’ll add you.”

There was an unsettling eagerness in Potter’s eyes—like he was refraining from talking too much. Draco tasted his scone, observing the kitchen’s ancient counters, the pots and pans on the wall, the dried chillies on a string and the impressive spice collection. He remembered a random conversation about cooking, and it all made sense. Potter enjoyed preparing meals, as long as they weren’t traditional British fare. Something about his aunt and uncle believing the only food worth serving was earthy, comfort dishes made for and by White English people. What a ridiculous notion. Not to mention, if he recalled correctly, Potter had cooked for them, and Potter’s skin colour betrayed an ancestry they must have despised. Stupid people. It was just as bad as Pureblood ideology though, and Draco wished he hadn’t been blindly agreeing with Father’s fanaticism back then. Ah, well. No use crying over spilt milk. The only thing Draco could do about it was fight these ideas and keep learning.

He drank his orange juice and set those thoughts aside. Luckily, Potter hadn’t noticed he’d drifted off. Draco had no wish to revisit his past mistakes at the breakfast table. Instead, he focused on a wooden bell hanging on the pantry door, painted red and gold. “What’s this?” He tilted his head towards it.

Potter swallowed a bite. “The bell? Teddy painted it at school.”

“You leave Christmas ornaments around all year or are you simply decorating very early?”

“If Teddy made it, it stays there.” He pushed his empty plate aside and rubbed his palms. “You can help me decorate. If you don’t mind.”

The Malfoys had celebrated Christmas because it was an excuse to spoil Draco, who got presents for Yule too. Any excuse to shower him with gifts sounded great in his parents’ mind. As an adult, he didn’t see the point of celebrating both. Not anymore. But for Teddy (and Potter, his traitorous brain added), he’d celebrate anything and even dress up if needed.

Decorating with Potter could even be fun. “That’s fine,” said Draco. “Maybe I’ll wrap Kreacher up in tinsel. Just promise me you'll keep that stupid jumper away from Edward. I'll burn mine if it soothes your poor soul.”

Potter barked a laugh, and Draco smiled. Scarhead was unfairly handsome when he was happy.


	7. H.E.A.L.E.R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: A potted plant with a single Christmas bauble dragging its tip down.)

“So, I told her, you see, lady, magic has a will of its own, and I had nothing to do with the tree that burst through the bedroom floor!”

“Yes, I’m sure she appreciated that—insane old bint. I’ve told her that place should be torn down but did she listen? Of course not.”

Harry tuned out his employees’ conversation to double-check Bill’s report on the content of a cursed cellar. Some of these houses were terrifying, and with the holidays around the corner, many owners reached out to Gringotts for some last-minute curse-breaking. Harry was only notified if his team had to rebuild the house or had received a request to assess the potential of its lands. Bill deemed the place safe to work on, so Harry made a note in his calendar and wrote a short letter to arrange a viewing. He raised his head at the sound of Ona Parangyo’s high heels and met her bored gaze as she stood in front of his desk. He gave her a questioning look.

“Got a message from the Diagon Alley Storefront Association,” she announced, looking like she’d smelled a Dungbomb.

Warrington groaned, and Lavender let out the loudest sigh Harry had ever heard—well, perhaps just as loud as her relieved exhale when Harry had fired Chambers last year.

“What do they want now?” Lavender asked.

Harry had some idea about that. The association, created during the post-war reconstruction efforts, attached a considerable importance to the appearance of Diagon Alley. Every shopkeeper had a role to play, which meant, at this time of the year, appropriate decorations were required.

“Well, they listened this time, at least.” She dropped a thick letter on top of the Flint House file. “Winter theme.”

“Huh. Goldstein will be glad.” Then Harry grimaced, remembering last December. “Please tell me we’re not getting a real tree.” The fallen needles had been a pain to get rid of. Someone had enchanted them so they wouldn’t be affected by magic.

“No way. But since you made me wear that stupid Santa hat, you, boss, will take care of Minitree for the season! _Accio_ Minitree!”

Harry threw his hands in the air to catch the tiny potted plant rushing through the office. Ona gave him a smug look, and Harry cursed Neville’s gift under his breath. The plant was, in fact, a miniature fir tree, but it came from the Longbottom Greenhouses, which gave it sentience. The tree enjoyed humming songs. Harry hated it. Malfoy would hex it.

Fuck, now he was thinking about his crush. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at the ceiling. As if he’d read his mind, Warrington snapped his fingers.

“Got the plans you asked for.”

Harry’s interest should not have spiked so high. “Thanks!”

“I didn’t think Malfoy had the money at the moment,” Ona said, and Harry felt his neck burn.

With a shrug, Warrington stood up. “Still a few years to go before he gets his vault back, yeah. Unless he wants to sell the place and pay us afterwards.” He walked over to Harry’s desk and gave him a stack of folded parchments. “That’s what I’d do. Imagine living in the Dark Lord’s favourite hideout.”

Lavender nodded, the scars on her face more vivid as the full moon approached. “I’d rather live in the streets.”

Harry snorted. “Apparently he does, too, because the Manor is gone.” They shared similar confused looks. “Wish magic,” Harry added, which made Warrington whistle in wonder.

“You’re doing it for free, aren’t you.”

“I think it’s romantic.” Lavender leaned forward with a dreamy smile, and Harry sputtered. “Oh, don’t deny it, you’ve been pining for years!”

“I’m your boss, and I’ll fire you.”

Ona cackled. “No, you won’t. You need her too much. Hey, Cassius, remember how they couldn’t stop staring at each other?”

Warrington sat back down and pulled at his frizzy hair. “I’m trying to forget.”

“Nope. Can’t. We’re forever cursed with the memory of Malfoy ranting in the common room. Potter’s hair, and Potter’s scar, and Potter not shaking his hand, and Father will hear about Potter snubbing him, and Dumbledore gave Potter points for existing, and Potter stole the House Cup—”

Harry wanted to hit his head against his desk in consternation, but he also enjoyed hearing this, in a way. He’d gotten under Draco’s skin as much as Draco had gotten under his.

With a long-suffering sigh, Ona bumped her shoulder against Warrington’s. “Being a Slytherin was hard in those days.”

“Endless drama!”

“Even Parkinson got annoyed and locked Draco in a closet, remember?”

“Fuck!” Lavender interrupted them mid-giggle, almost falling off her chair. “I’ll be late!” She grabbed her belongings and the file she needed and rushed outside.

Harry watched her leave, his mind full of Malfoy. He struggled to associate the tiny, angry Draco trying to look important, swaggering like he owned Hogwarts, with the dignified young man he’d shared breakfast with in the morning. Their rivalry had been so childish and pointless. If he could tell his younger self that Malfoy would grow into a good man, perhaps things would’ve been different. He also had to admit that Malfoy ranting about him in the Slytherin dungeons for years was hilarious. Harry had done the same thing though, in sixth year especially, and he would take that secret to the grave (unless a Gryffindor betrayed him).

Ona waited until Warrington was busy with a report, then poked Minitree and tapped her fingers on the ceramic pot. “You know, Potter, nothing will happen if you don’t make a move,” she murmured.

Harry’s left eyelid twitched. He gave up on denying his feelings since it seemed the whole world knew. “What do you suggest? Would he expect a courting ritual?”

Her smile was positively feral. “Oh, you poor, innocent soul. Draco is attached to Pureblood traditions, but not that much. If you court him that way, he’ll expect you to marry him in a week. No, just don’t start anything if you’re not serious. He was brought up a certain way—he doesn’t do casual. At least I don’t think he does.”

“He doesn’t,” Warrington piped up. “He broke up with Nott because Nott wasn’t in it for the long haul.”

Harry didn’t want to listen. No, he did, he just didn’t want to be so obvious about it. That break-up had been in the papers, because at the time, Draco was still gracing the pages of the _Daily Prophet_ as the fallen Malfoy Scion. Disgusting, intrusive articles that had left Harry fuming. Skeeter had been disrespectful of both Draco and Theo and had involved Teddy because Draco was still living with Andromeda at the time. Hermione had revealed Skeeter’s secret to the Aurors in retaliation, and the journalist served five months in Azkaban and paid a hefty fine. She hadn’t written about Teddy since, but her articles had taken on a more vicious stance when it came to the Golden Trio. Harry dreaded to think of what she’d write if he dated Malfoy.

Harry wasn’t much for casual dating anymore, truth be told. He’d done enough of that, so Draco’s preferences suited him just fine. He thought about the best way to woo him—he could ask Parkinson. Ona and Cassius only knew Draco because they’d shared a common room (and a Quidditch team), but Parkinson was privy to his deepest secrets. The only problem was that Parkinson and Harry loathed each other. Nott would know, too, but that would be awkward, even if he was happily married to Padma, who’d given him two children. Ron would laugh, and Hermione would suggest a romantic dinner, which wouldn’t work because Draco was too particular, and what if Harry chose a restaurant that wasn’t good enough for him?

That left only one option.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry muttered, heading to the back room. The new fireplace needed to be checked by the Ministry before it could be used to travel, but Floo calls worked fine. “Zabini Estate!” He stuck his head in the green flames, gritting his teeth at the pain in his knees.

It took a few seconds before Blaise, who lived off his family fortune, strolled into view with a glass of wine. “Well, what a surprise! Aren’t you at work?”

“It’s important.”

“I’m listening.”

Zabini owed Harry. Without his assistance, he wouldn’t be dating Hermione. It was only fair to ask him for help with Draco. So, Harry told him everything.

“You know, this is much simpler than it seems,” Blaise said with a small smirk. “Draco isn’t Hermione. As surprising as it may sound, he won’t need you to prove your intelligence and organisational skills. Thank Merlin, because we all know you’d suck at it.” His smirk widened at Harry’s outraged hiss. “Draco will want to spend time with you. Don’t go out of your way to impress him, because you’ll look stupid. He knows you, so believe me, you should be yourself.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“You’re hopeless. Do I need to spell it out? Hang out together for mundane things. Make him a part of your life. You already live together, it shouldn’t be that hard. He likes feeling useful and valued, so involve him in your life.” Blaise picked at his nails. “He loves Christmas lights. Go on a walk with him, you’ll see.”

“Right. Christmas lights.” It sounded good. Safe. Who would’ve thought Malfoy was that easy to please?

“And, Potter, remember: there’s nothing he won’t enjoy if you’re with him because he’s obsessed with you.”

Harry ended the call and sat in the soot, excited and apprehensive. He’d do it. He’d ask. Tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm overwhelmed by all your amazing comments! I'll reply at the end of the month when I finish posting, but in the meantime, thank you!


	8. Screeching Kreacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: close-up of 3 snowflakes)

Draco came home late after getting stuck on his article because he couldn’t be bothered to write a comparison between the Quaffle from the Nimbus company and the brand new Super Quaffle that some teams insisted on playing with. A Quaffle wasn’t even magical! Give him an assignment about Bludgers, yes, those could be interesting. There were many stories to tell, and rogue Bludgers were always entertaining. But no, Draco had drawn the short straw. Thank Morgana it was Friday because he was so exhausted he’d almost Apparated to the Manor before remembering it was gone.

Grimmauld Place was warm and a lot more inviting than it should be. Draco heard Potter singing—he wasn’t bad at it. He’d sung for Teddy when the child was tiny, worsening Draco’s crush as his heart was still healing from the Nott fiasco. Potter would never be a professional singer, but his voice had a soft, deep and smoky quality, and Draco adored it. In a way, it already made Grimmauld Place seem like a dream come true, as sinister as the house was. He repressed a smile and followed the sound.

Potter was washing the dishes under Kreacher’s glower. Draco could smell the delicious scent of roasted tomatoes, and his stomach grumbled, betraying his presence. Potter turned around with a delighted grin that made Draco’s heart leap in his chest.

“Malfoy! I didn’t know when you’d be there, so I already ate, but there’s still enough for you. Help yourself.”

Potter saving some dinner for Draco should not have turned him into a lovesick puppy, but it did. Draco found the plate of stuffed tomatoes under a stasis charm. Suddenly famished, he grabbed a fork and dug in. Mother would be horrified to see him gobble it all up without taking the time to sit correctly. He didn’t even bother with a napkin. He must’ve looked like the Weasel, but it didn’t seem to annoy Potter, who was scrubbing the sink. Kreacher was still lurking for some unknown reason; would Draco ever get used to him? Unlikely.

He forced himself to slow down before noticing Potter’s feeble attempts to avoid looking at him. “Do I have something on my face?”

Potter seemed to be fighting some kind of internal turmoil now that the sink was clean. The way he flexed his fists, scratched his neck and chewed on his lips said it all, really. Draco thought that perhaps he’d ask Draco to leave, that it was a mistake, but he stomped on those idiotic thoughts before they could poison his mood. Still, when Potter exhaled, Draco braced himself.

“Do you want to go shopping with me tomorrow?”

Draco froze. “What?” _That_ was what ate Potter alive?

“You know, groceries, maybe have a look at Hamleys—”

“Potter, I thought you were going to give me bad news!” The tension left his body. “What’s Hamleys?”

“Giant toy store. I thought we could buy Teddy’s presents.”

Going to Muggle London was always an interesting adventure—and a giant toy store? Draco was intrigued. But why groceries? Didn’t Kreacher do the shopping?

Potter snorted when he asked. “Why do you think he’s sulking back there?” He gestured towards the elf. “I just feel like doing it myself sometimes. Not to mention, at this time of the year, Tesco sells those really fun stickers you can put on the windows—”

Kreacher let out a sudden screech.

Draco dropped his fork. “What the fuck?”

“If Master Harry repurchases the stickers, Kreacher won’t care if Kreacher needs to crawl into the oven to punish himself, Kreacher will stab Master Harry in his sleep!”

What in the name of Merlin was wrong with that elf? And why didn’t Potter react? Draco watched, horrified, as the Golden Boy twirled a strand of hair around his finger (whoever told him to grow it out and tie it in that messy bun had Draco’s everlasting gratitude). “Kreacher, you can’t say that!”

Kreacher looked ready to claw Draco’s eyes out. “Master Draco doesn’t understand.”

Potter leaned back against the countertop with a sheepish grin. “I bought some last year—cute snowflakes, Teddy loved them. He stuck them to every window. They’re supposed to come off with water, but I forgot to remove them, and I left them too long. As soon as the weather got hotter, they melted.”

“Kreacher witnessed the fall of the Ancient and Noble House of Black!” Kreacher wailed.

“We spent a week cleaning up, and some of the stains are still there.”

“Kreacher failed!” The elf popped away.

Draco made a mental note not to buy any, and to prevent Potter from doing so because he had no wish to cause a house-elf meltdown. He finished his meal and walked over to the sink, but unlike Potter, he didn’t use a sponge to clean his plate. Potter had said it relaxed him, once, but Draco didn’t understand why. Washing something by hand—touching wet bits of food… No thanks. Maybe it wasn’t about the action, but about the repetitive movement. Or maybe Potter just forgot he had magic. It happened quite a bit with people who hadn’t grown up around it.

As he swished his wand, he realised he hadn’t answered Potter’s proposition. “I’ll come with you.”

“Huh?”

“Shopping. I can’t let you go alone into a toy store, who knows if you’ll ever get out.”

Potter laughed. Draco resolved to make that happen more often.


	9. Toys and Shinies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: A street at night with hanging Christmas lights shaped like angels)

The last floor of Hamleys hosted a collection of expensive Lord of the Rings merchandise and Harry wracked his brain to remember enough lore to explain what the jewellery was. Draco had that look of keen, excited interest, so the matter of what Harry would give him for Christmas—or Yule, whatever—was all sorted out. He’d find a beautiful illustrated edition.

Harry was a bit out of his depth here, like always when he roamed around a toy store. Since he never had toys as a child, the sight of so many objects created to bring joy to kids (and money to a corporation) was still alien to him. He enjoyed playing Legos with Teddy but had to admit he hadn’t known what to do at first. Playing was a disconcerting experience. Draco didn’t have that problem; he had the attention span of a bloody fruit fly now that they were away from the display cases holding miniature replicas of various swords and staffs. He couldn’t get enough of this place and was bouncing around like a child. What had Draco said yesterday? Harry shouldn’t go alone in a toy store or he’d never get out? 

“Oh Merlin, Potter, come here! This thing talks!” Draco crossed his arms. “If only I still had money. I’d buy them all. _Look_ at them!”

Harry dragged him away from the Furbys because he didn’t want one of those things in his house. Hopefully, by the time Draco got his vault back, he’d forget all about them. “Draco, there’s a really cool Lego statue by the escalator—”

“I know what Legos are, and they don’t talk.”

Yes, but magic will fry anything with batteries, so Furbies are out.” And thank Merlin for that. Harry spotted the Star Wars Legos collection and pointed at the Death Star. “I’m getting that one for Teddy.”

Draco hung his head in dismay. “Why? He’ll blame me for not seeing the movies.”

“And he’ll be right! You have no excuse!” 

Draco had escaped a few occasions to watch them like he did with most movies. Hermione had a warded room where technology worked and she often organised movie nights. Since she lived with Blaise, Draco was usually invited, but went home early if he did show up. He didn’t say it, but Harry knew movies freaked him out. On top of it, Draco disliked feeling inadequate or ignorant. Science-fiction, or anything dealing with Muggle technology, was too complicated to wrap his head around. Harry could understand that. He’d felt much the same way upon discovering magic, except to him, magic was a promise; it was a world without the Dursleys. Technology brought nothing but confusion to Draco’s mind. He did enjoy Willow, though, so it wasn’t like he hated every film in existence. 

Harry grabbed the Death Star. “Ready to pay?”

“If I must.” With a forlorn look, Draco walked beside him. “We should come back.”

“I’d be glad to.”

As soon as they stepped outside, they checked their surroundings and shrunk their bags when no one was watching. It was dark; they’d spent the entire afternoon walking around, and Draco had bought a shawl for his mum. They’d laughed, took a break in a coffee shop, talked about the week they’d just had at work and about that one Solstice celebration at Andromeda’s, when Draco had learned how to bake.

“Should we head back?” Harry asked, not wanting this day to end.

Draco looked up and readjusted his woolly hat. He looked cute with it. “I’d love to walk a little if that’s all right.”

Heart soaring, Harry nodded so fast he almost lost his glasses. Blaise’s words rushed back to him: Christmas lights. They could go to Hyde Park. “There’s a—I guess you can call it a Christmas market. It’s new. Winter Wonderland, I think, about 20 minutes from here.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

And Malfoy looped his arm with Harry’s, and Harry’s brain crashed. They were so close. He could feel Malfoy’s body heat, and Harry knew he wasn’t imagining the strength of Draco’s grip. He leaned against him a little bit, losing track of where they were, as they passed by the festive shop windows and the angel-shaped lights hanging over the streets. 

Draco’s delight hypnotised Harry.

It got even worse when they entered the park, and Draco heard the music, saw the Ferris wheel and the children running around. It smelled heavenly, like biscuits and churros and roasted chestnuts. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered, and Harry had to agree.

They didn’t let go of each other. They bought a bag of chestnuts, and Harry burned his fingers, trying to peel one. Draco turned to face him and held Harry’s hand close to his lips. Harry felt like time had stopped. 

“I’m okay,” he breathed, losing himself in those grey eyes. 

“I could kiss it better, if—if you wanted?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good. Nice. Er.” He could hear Hermione tell him to take charge and stop acting like a flustered Fourth Year at the Hogwarts Yule Ball, but then there was the softest press of lips on his fingers and what was left of his brain turned to mush. “Thank you,” he stammered.

Draco’s blush darkened. This must have been the boldest move he was capable of, and Harry didn’t want to ruin it by being an idiot, but it felt like now was the best time to make a move. 

“Draco,” he began, standing even closer. “I’m going to do something very Gryffindor. Please don’t slap me.”

He forgot about the crowd around them, about the reactions they might have, and he moved as close as possible, before kissing Draco. 

Draco tensed in his arms, then sighed and grabbed the back of Harry’s cloak. He moved his lips just a little bit, enough to light a fire in Harry’s groin. Then Draco stepped back with a sheepish smile, which turned into his trademark sneer when a group of teenagers looked at them a little too long.

“Thanks for not slapping me,” Harry said, slightly out of breath. 

Draco laced their fingers together and gave Harry’s hand a little squeeze. “Come on, I want cotton candy. You’re paying since you dared exhibit such uncouth behaviour in front of all these people. Public indecency, I say.”

“It’s more romantic than Grimmauld Place!”

“I do appreciate the fact that you spared me from being seen by Kreacher for our first kiss.”

“Huh, there’s an idea.”

“Potter, no.”


	10. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: An artifical, rainbow-coloured fir tree)

Draco hadn’t been held in his sleep for years—he’d had one boyfriend, and Theo wasn’t much of a cuddler. So when he woke up on Sunday morning, wrapped in a warm embrace with the distinct, scratchy feeling of a beard on the back of his neck, it took him a few seconds to figure out where he was. And, in quick succession, flashes of memories bloomed behind his still-closed eyelids.

The kiss at the Christmas market. Sharing cotton candy, then another kiss, a soft, quick one, that felt like they’d always been doing that, like it was normal and right and why the fuck hadn’t they done it earlier? Harry’s weight as they leaned on each other, the awkward moment when they came home and didn’t know what to do, Draco taking charge and making hot chocolate then getting distracted and almost burning the house down. A silence that shouldn’t have been so comfortable, in front of a roaring fire, and then more kisses that tasted like chocolate and candy. The smell of Harry’s skin, his fingers that were just on that side of cold, his body pressing down on him. Clothes being in the way, then a tongue in all the right places, a slight tug on his hair, an aching need, blown-out pupils in a sea of green; the feel of a hard cock against his own, a burning ecstasy and all of Draco’s wishes coming true—then again in the shower and again between the satin sheets, and Harry choosing to sleep there with Draco, not going back to his room.

Draco opened his eyes with a soft gasp and twisted his body to make sure it wasn’t a dream. Then he scoffed. If he’d been dreaming, Harry wouldn’t have globs of drool in his short beard. He was so scruffy in his sleep. Merlin, but Draco loved that prat. And he wasn’t scared, which astonished him since he’d always been terrified of opening himself to others, of letting them see him. But he’d never had that issue with Harry; he’d shown him the worst of himself, the darkest parts—was that why he was okay with this? With being vulnerable? Draco pushed people away before they could know too much, but that wasn’t a problem with Harry, was it? Draco had nothing left to hide from him.

He traced a spiral on Harry’s bicep, then felt him shift, moving a bit lower. Warm lips played with Draco’s left nipple, making him shiver, then there was the slightest hint of teeth, and Draco gasped. “No, not now, morning breath, urg—”

Harry laughed and sat up, then straddled him. Circe, he was attractive, and that voice, rough from taking Draco so deep in his throat last night! Draco’s cock twitched. “Potter, you oaf, let me brush my teeth first!”

“Freshening Charm?”

Draco hesitated, but his cock won. He grabbed his wand, cast the spell on his mouth and on Harry’s, and flipped Harry over, pressing his pelvis against the very hard, very noticeable bulge in his pants. “You have good ideas, sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“I just paid you a compliment! You’d better savour it, Chosen One.” Draco leaned down and caught Harry’s lips between his teeth before slipping his tongue into his mouth. He moved his hips gently, focused on the hands caressing his back and cupping his arse, and reached beneath the fabric of Harry’s pants to free his cock. Languid strokes matched the rhythm of their kiss until Harry came all over Draco’s fist. 

Harry broke the kiss and fumbled with Draco’s pyjamas bottoms. “Fuck, let me—” He groaned. “Why are you wearing those?”

Squirming, Draco winked and pushed them down. “They’re comfortable.” He pulled on his cock. “Was that what you wanted to see?”

“Maybe. Get on your back, Malfoy.”

Flushing, he obeyed and laughed when Potter hesitated. “Scared?”

“Do I need to check you for signs of Obliviation?”

“I just figured your throat might still be sore.”

“You’re not that big!”

“Oh, really?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And oh, that mouth worked very, very well for that purpose. Anything Draco wanted to say vanished from his mind as he was too busy grasping the sheets in delicious agony. 

As it was Sunday, they decided to stay in bed. A very productive weekend. They took a break from fooling around after Kreacher brought them food and complained about unseemly behaviour, which made Harry laugh until he spat his drink all over the bed. Thank Merlin for cleaning spells. 

After some thinking, Draco found the perfect way to annoy Kreacher even more. “I propose a flamboyantly gay Christmas tree this year.”

“How?” Harry took a bite of his sandwich. “With rainbow paint?”

“Exactly!” 

“That reminds me, I have to introduce you to Minitree. You’ll adore it.”

“Are you talking about your prick?”

“You’re the worst! You’ll see!”

“Oh, I can hardly wait.”

Draco then demanded a cuddle. Then another. He was a needy man, and Potter indulged him, so what else could he possibly want? 


	11. The Drunk Thestral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: A Christmas tree at night by the Thames, with the tower bridge in the background)

There was a definite cheer in the air that had nothing to do with the season. Harry felt weightless. He could cast a Patronus strong enough to light up the sky for days. He’d earned concerned stares because nobody in their right mind would arrive at the office on a Monday in such good mood, let alone agree to take on the case of their most difficult customer without arguing. Soon, everyone would know, but until then, Harry was rather enjoying causing so much confusion among his employees.

He left the office without answering their questions once he was done with his last customer of the day (an old man who forgot all about the concept of washing himself), and he crinkled an empty candy wrapper in his pocket. He’d be late, but Ron wouldn’t hold it against him. Hermione might rant about time management, though. They’d agreed to meet up once a month because they were all busy with their own lives—Hermione being the worst of them, obviously. They’d met up almost every day in the year following the war, but then Harry left Auror training, Ron and Hermione broke up, and things were too awkward for a while. They were never quite the same again. They’d all shut the door on their Hogwarts years, and it changed the dynamics of their relationship. It took a while before they were able to see each other without bringing up the break-up. Tonight, they’d have something different to talk about, because Harry didn’t want them to find out in the _Prophet_.

He left Diagon Alley and its early evening crowd and entered the much quieter Horizont Alley, which was less about shopping and more about eating and having a good time. Well, his favourite bookshop was there, too, and he only liked it because they didn’t treat him like royalty, but to be fair the shop could use some cleaning charms. He glanced in the window when he passed by, noting the lack of decorations and wondering if he should move H.E.A.L.E.R. to this street. He’d have to research it first; perhaps the local business owners had another association breathing down their neck. Did Knockturn Alley have one? Requiring each shop to be as dusty and sinister as possible? Creevey and his goonies weren’t that bad, though. They’d accepted his stance against Boy-Who-Lived-related Halloween decorations without any fuss, at least.

Harry rolled his eyes at the number of decorations and lights marking the entrance of the Drunk Thestral Inn; they made up for the bare establishments of Horizont Alley, for sure. If this were a Muggle pub, the electricity bill would be outrageous. They even had a life-sized Santa climbing up and down the wall.

Since it was Monday, and still early enough to see a hint of blue on the edges of the sky, the pub was almost empty—people were still busy shopping or working. An old couple shared a pint at the bar, and a family sat at the booth closest to the window, gorging themselves on fish and chips. Harry waved at the smiling bartender and headed to the back of the room, walking around a wide pillar and finding his usual table, snug into a corner, away from prying eyes. His general good mood improved tenfold when Hermione spotted him. She jumped out of her seat and hugged him, making him laugh when her hair got stuck on his glasses.

“Ah wait, don’t move!”

“Oh my goodness, again?” She kept still as Harry untangled the curl.

He put his glasses back on and slid into the booth after removing his coat and gloves. On the wall behind Hermione, an enchanted frame showed a Christmas tree with the Tower Bridge in the background, because the Drunk Thestral Inn wasn’t content with their own ostentatious display, they also had to show _more_ decorations around London. Similar frames dotted the other walls, each depicting a scene in a famous location around the city, and each fully decked out for Christmas. After looking at each of them and not understanding why this place was so over the top for the holidays, Harry glanced at the empty seat by his side. “Where’s Ron?”

“I’m here! Sorry!”

Harry’s smile grew, and he moved a bit to give Ron some space. His best friend ranted about Robards giving him a last-minute report to fill when he’d already worked since four in the morning, and Harry congratulated himself on quitting the Aurors.

Their food arrived, and Ron devoured his shepherd’s pie like a man starving because some things never changed. Hermione had ordered her usual fare but without the alcohol this time. Harry almost choked on his fried mushrooms.

“Mione, is there anything you want to tell us?”

“Harry, I’m allowed to drink water once in a while.” She bit her lower lip but couldn’t prevent the spread of a smile, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

“Really?” he whispered, struggling to comprehend what was happening. He had a vision of her as a tiny little girl in the Hogwarts library, surrounded by a tower of books and admonishing him and Ron for not reading _Hogwarts: A History_. “Does Zabini know?”

“Jabini ‘ow ’at?”

“Ron, swallow before you speak, honestly!” She squeezed Harry’s fingers. “I told Blaise this morning.”

Oh, so that was why Draco had received a note at breakfast inviting him to get drunk after work. Harry wondered if Draco would be wise enough not to Apparate with alcohol in his blood. “I’m so happy for you!” He saw some tension on her face, so he added, “if you need anything, let me know. We’re not letting you go through this without us! Right, Ron?”

“Huh?” Ron wiped his mouth with his napkin.

Giddy, Harry bumped his shoulder against his friend’s arm. “Hermione’s pregnant.”

“Blimey! No way! But how? No, wait, I don’t want to know.” He leaned over her side of the table, looking for something, and frowned. “You’re so thin!”

Harry snickered and drank his beer.

“Ronald, it’s still early. Please tell me you know what pregnancy looks like.” Hermione turned her attention back to Harry, leaving Ron to sputter. “Now, you have something to tell us too, don’t you?”

Harry’s message confirming their plans had mentioned such. He scratched his head and took a leap of faith. “Feels a bit like I’m trying to steal your thunder, but I’m dating someone again. It's—I'm serious about it this time.”

Hermione squealed, and Ron elbowed him. “Well done mate, do we know her?” He scrunched up his nose. “Or him? Or them? See, Mione, I’m learning.”

“Yes, I’m very proud of you.”

 _Here goes nothing_. “I’m pretty sure you know him, yeah. It’s Draco.”

“Bollocks! I owe Seamus 8 Galleons.”

Harry expected at least some astonishment from Ron, but not that. “You—you’ve bet on my love life?”

“Yes! The stakes rose every year!”

“George set up his own betting pool last time we hung out,” Hermione added with the look of a mad fiend. “You two were just so obvious, it was almost painful. I don’t understand how Ron _lost_.”

“I don’t know if I’m angry or not,” Harry grumbled.

“You can be pissed off later. Tell us everything!”

“Objection!” Ron bleated. “Not _everything_ , please! I need to protect my soul. Oh, Merlin, you’re bringing him to the Burrow aren’t you?”

Harry cut a piece of his chicken and ate it, humming his answer. Yes, he would, if Draco wanted to. And it may sound insane since their relationship was brand new, but they had known each other for so long that it didn’t matter much, in the end.

“Oh, and Harry,” said Hermione, “don’t be nervous, we’re happy for you.”

Ron slapped his shoulder with enough strength to make him cough. “We are, but I’ll find a way to get those Galleons back!”


	12. The Dreaded Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: Santa putting gifts under Christmas tree)

Draco scrambled into the Weaselette’s office, out of breath.

“Malfoy, what the fuck?”

“Don’t tell anyone I’m there!” He opened the cupboard, but it was hopeless. Perhaps he could move everything out and cram himself inside—

“Malfoy, seriously, get out.”

“No! You don’t understand, he’s _here_!”

Too late. He heard the creak of the door and those dreaded, heavy footsteps, and then—

“Hohoho, Merry Christmas, boys and girls!”

Draco groaned and sneered when Ginny laughed until she snorted. Whoever Wood hired to play Santa this year had chosen a costume with so much extra padding he didn’t quite fit through the door but still managed to wiggle his way in. He opened his arms wide. “Aaah there you are, come on, give me a hug!”

The Weaselette, that traitor, pushed Draco forward, but he Apparated into his own office with just enough time to hear Ginny’s strangled squawk as she fell victim to their visitor. He locked the door, turned off the lights, and pretended he wasn’t there by hiding under his desk.

Last year, Wood had asked Hagrid to play the part, and Draco had been horrified when he’d found himself pressed against a coat that had not been washed in decades. There had been bugs crawling into Hagrid’s beard! He’d given them _names_! Draco had felt the sensation of tiny legs running over his limbs for weeks because _Patrick_ took a walk on his arm before rushing back into the safety of the bushy beard! He was now wary of anyone distributing free hugs.

Stupid Gryffindors with no concept of personal space. This would never happen in a Slytherin environment. It wasn’t even worth it; their Santa brought cheap candy and low-quality chocolate that tasted like soap and sugar and had the barest artificial cocoa flavour. They could at least purchase them from Honeydukes if imported Muggle chocolate was too expensive, but no, that was too much to ask.

“Santa” didn’t stay for long, and Draco doubted he was standing guard in front of the door to catch him, so once there were no more giggles and footsteps from his coworkers, he left his hiding place and straightened his robes, before sitting on his chair and typing the beginning of a sentence. Why was it so hard to concentrate? All he could picture was a dishevelled Potter with his legs spread as Draco buried himself deep inside him, or a grouchy Potter who hadn’t slept too well and burrowed his face in Draco’s shirt. Both enjoyable images, but not helpful. Not to mention, Potter would pick him up after work for their first Friday night as a couple, and time had decided to slow down just like on the eve of a holiday. While Draco was no longer writing about Quaffles, this week’s article was due in a few hours, and he hated every word of it, so his brain clung to any available distraction.

He winced when someone knocked at the door. He wouldn’t get any work done if people kept interrupting him, so perhaps Wood would grant him the authorisation to maim his coworkers for the occasion. Lifting his fingers off the typewriter, he fell against the back of the chair and breathed out. “Come in.”

“You invaded my space, so it’s my turn.” Ginny marched towards his desk and sat on it without a care in the world. “What’s up with you?”

_Well, your ex is mine now, how’s that?_ Draco thought, a touch vicious. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’d been jealous, despite how short-lived that relationship had been. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, first off, you’ve been out of it since last weekend. You missed a weird meeting yesterday; apparently, Gwenog Jones is threatening to sue if we ever mention the zit she has on her nose. And, you didn’t wish me good luck with my try-outs.” She poked his shoulder with her index finger, and Draco winced. “But none of that matters, because your neck looks like you were attacked by leeches, and I need to know.”

He slapped a hand against his neck.

“Other side too,” she pointed out.

“Fuck.” He turned around to grab his scarf but realised it was Potter’s, and worse, it was his school scarf. He didn’t need to see Ginny to picture the shit-eating grin she’d be sporting.

She didn’t ask who it belonged to, though, and he was grateful. The truth would come out soon enough. What she did do, though, was hum in wonder, and perhaps she’d already guessed, after all.

“Did you need something or are you really just here fishing for gossip?”

“I think I don’t need to anymore. Always nice talking to you, Malfoy!” She slid off the desk and left with a spring in her step.

She absolutely knew. Why wouldn’t she? Draco wouldn’t date just any Gryffindor, there was only one. Her visit had the benefit of spurring him into action, and he found himself typing at a furious pace until his article was fully written.

Huh, perhaps the Weaselette’s interruptions were good for _something_.


	13. The Diagon Alley Experiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: mistletoe)

Harry counted seven flashes in the five minutes since he’d walked away from the Apparition point. These paparazzi must have a sixth sense because they hadn’t been that bad in a while. Did they know they were about to see something juicy? A few years ago, Harry would’ve bolted, or yelled at them, flipped them off, and hexed them. After Skeeter went to Azkaban and even when she came back (and kept her job!), they left him more or less alone—his life lacked gossip fodder when he stopped dating casually, and he had too many satisfied customers to see an impact when his business was attacked. Not to mention, they couldn’t do it openly without losing their funding and risking fines for defamation.

Perhaps it was because this was technically Knockturn Alley and Harry’s presence here always attracted attention. Knockturn didn’t deserve its reputation. The less savoury, dark arts-oriented or disreputable establishments still thrived since the war, and hags and vampires favoured the place, but no, it wasn’t the dangerous hive of scum and villainy people described. Otherwise, Ginny wouldn’t be working there.

The small offices of _The Weekly Snitch_ were located above Mulpepper’s apothecary with a separate entrance at the back. Harry slid into the narrow gap between Mulpepper’s and the cauldron shop, just in time: the door opened and out came a giggling Ginny, followed by Draco.

Ginny’s laugh died in her throat, and her amused expression turned positively gleeful as she zeroed in on Harry. “Oh shit, I knew it, I KNEW IT!” She rushed towards him, and Harry cringed as she squeezed the breath out of him. “Thank you for making me win!” She let him go under Draco’s puzzled glance.

Harry massaged his bruised ribs. “How many Galleons? Ron lost 8.”

“I’m sorry, people bet on us?” said Draco.

“Of course!” Ginny looked at them both as if they’d grown antlers. “It’s something to do when life is dull.”

“Life is about to become a whole lot more complicated,” Harry pointed out, walking up to Draco and feeling a pleasant warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of the Gryffindor scarf around Draco’s neck. “Did you steal this from my closet?” Harry took the end of the scarf and flapped it in Draco’s face. “You’re about to get a taste of the Being Harry Potter experience. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“You know I only date you for the scandalous headlines.”

Smirking, Harry slid his hand into his and laced their fingers together. “Great. I’ll hold your hand the whole time.”

“You’re both ridiculous and sickeningly adorable.” With a jaunty wave, Ginny stepped away. “I’m off. See you Monday, Malfoy!”

Harry heard her tell someone to fuck off when she walked out of the tiny alley and onto the street, so a photographer must’ve ambushed her hoping to catch Harry by her side. Harry rolled his eyes and looked up at the window above them. “Should I go up there and say hi?” It wasn’t like he didn’t want to see his former teammates, but he would be roped into a conversation and would lose some precious moments with Draco.

“Bad idea,” Draco replied with an air of mischief. “Wood and Bell are stuck under the mistletoe. Looks like they’ll stay there all night.”

“How did that happen?” The news conjured a hilarious image.

Draco tugged at his hand, and Harry walked behind him to exit the passage, before catching up with him to press himself against Draco’s side. “We had Santa’s visit,” Draco sneered, contempt dripping from his words. “He hung magical mistletoe in the stairwell. I’m grateful I didn’t walk underneath.”

“Is that the kind that requires French kissing? Because I asked George to stop selling it—”

“No! Just a peck. It even works if you cover your mouth, but they don’t want to _let the mistletoe win_.”

The first flash of a camera made Harry see little white dots, but he didn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. “Are you going to rant about Gryffindor stubbornness?”

“You have no idea of the torture I go through.”

“I don’t?”

“Of course not, your own stubbornness makes you blind to your fellow Gryffindors’ failings. I’m surrounded by overeager puppies with a righteous streak who think sliding down the bannister should be an acceptable way to get out of the building! I suffer daily, Potter, and you will never understand the depth of my pain.” The volume of Draco’s voice (and Harry’s laughter) was attracting attention, and Harry could tell that no _Prophet_ article would be necessary; in five minutes, everyone in Diagon Alley would know.

Harry patted Draco’s forearm and stomped on the urge to kiss his cheek. If he did that, he wouldn’t stop, and he’d snog him against a wall. He couldn’t explain the things that scarf around Draco’s neck did to him.

“Andi Floo-called,” he said, veering from dangerous topics. “We’re invited to lunch tomorrow.”

“You told her?”

“Ah, not really?” Harry was pretty sure she’d guessed, though. “She said she couldn’t reach you and wanted to know why. Told her you were at my place.”

“Mh.” Another flash. “Circe, I forgot what it was like. Would you like a drink? I’m up for something warm.”

Harry agreed just as someone swooned and another screamed at him to “give her all his babies”, which made him and Draco hurry to Goyle’s coffee and pastry shop. Harry crossed his fingers and hoped Dudley wouldn’t be there because that had never stopped being awkward, but his wish was granted since Gabriel Delacour was behind the till, which meant Dudley wasn’t on shift.

Greg had bought the shop after the war, struggled to succeed due to his past associations, then he’d hired Dudley, and the business saw a sudden growth just because “Harry Potter’s cousin works there”. As a recently-discovered Squib, Dudley (like Aunt Petunia, and wasn’t that ironic) could see the Leaky Cauldron without help, and he’d been looking for work among people who would understand what he’d been through at the safe-house during the war.

Gabriel, on the other hand, had moved to England with his parents after graduating from Beauxbâtons. His initial motivation for leaving was to be closer to his sister and nieces. The next? St. Mungo’s new hormone therapy program, which wasn’t available in France yet, due to the distasteful opinions of their new Minister for Magic. French magicians were stuck with the old potion and its side-effects or had to seek treatment in the Muggle world. If someone had told Harry, before Voldemort’s defeat, that one day, the British Ministry would do better than its counterparts, he might’ve laughed. It was all thanks to the tremendous efforts of a wizarding association founded by Millicent Bulstrode and Alicia Spinnet. It helped that Minister Shacklebolt had listened to them.

Harry understood Gabriel’s choice to come here, and he was always eager to support Goyle, whose hiring policy forbade any kind of discrimination. Goyle didn’t hesitate to kick rude customers out of his shop either, and he made some of the best treats in this part of England. The coffee wasn’t too bad, though Harry had a preference for the Muggle coffee shop near Grimmauld Place.

Goyle, Dudley, or Gabriel also had the dubious idea to put mistletoe above the spot where everyone would stand to read the menu, as Harry and Draco quickly discovered.

They tried to move their legs, looked up, and Harry groaned. “Well. I hope these photographers are ready.”


	14. Insanity and Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: Two mugs, one shaped like an upside down Santa, the other like an upside down snowman. )

Once freed from that pesky mistletoe that granted the paparazzi their dream shot, Harry didn’t move away fast enough, and someone grabbed his waist to drag him back, hoping to receive a kiss. Draco’s wand was pressed into the skin of the woman’s neck in an instant before he could even register what he was doing. 

“Death Eater attack!” she shrieked, pinned against the wall, and he recognised her as the one who’d asked Harry to impregnate her. She looked as old as Dumbledore, and her shiny pink lipstick was smeared on her chin. 

Draco didn’t care. She could scream for help all she wanted. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snarled. She looked at him with the disdain he’d grown so used to over the years. 

“You’re not worthy of kissing the shoes of the Boy-Who-Lived!” She twisted her body around and cooed. “Oh, Harry James, I knew you’d save me, oh, my, look at those biceps—”

Standing by Draco’s side, Harry crossed his (not that muscular!) arms on his chest, and to Draco’s surprise, didn’t say a word. He didn’t yell at the woman or step between her and Draco to protect him. This wasn’t the righteous Golden Boy who’d irked Draco so much at school, the chivalrous defender lauded in the _Prophet_. Harry trusted Draco to handle himself. And that simple fact created an explosion of butterflies in his stomach—and the beginning of a strain between his legs.

Draco applied more pressure on his wand. “He didn’t come to save you. Leave!”

“I’m sorry, is there a problem here?” Gabriel could win an Unimpressed Glare contest with Pansy. It worsened when the woman launched into a rant about Draco’s presence here, his Mark, his past, his family, and how poor Harry Potter needed to marry her right now so they could have powerful and beautiful children and ensure the continuation of the Potter line. Gabriel’s eye twitched at that last one. “Madam, I’m afraid you will have to leave.”

“Well, I never! You can’t be so rude to your customers! I’ll complain! You don’t even speak proper English! How dare you ask me to—”

“I am not asking. Get out.”

Draco lowered his wand but kept it ready to cast. Then the woman, whose breath had the distinct scent of cheap Firewhiskey, realised she was stuck under the mistletoe, not with Harry, but with Draco. She blanched, and her eyes bugged out. Repulsed at the idea of putting his face anywhere near her, Draco pointed his wand at the bundled twigs and tilted his head. “Ça vient de chez Wheezes1?” he asked. No, he hadn’t used French because he wanted to see Harry react to him speaking another language. Not at all. But he was vindicated by his soft gasp.

Gabriel shook his head, his Veela ancestry giving him the predatory look that Draco had once seen on an incensed Fleur. “Moldu, avec quelques charmes en plus. Tu peux le faire disparaître.2”

“It won’t multiply?” Harry asked, and it was a valid question, as was the one that was now running through Draco’s mind ( _how what when?! Potter understands French oh gods!_ ). The mistletoe that trapped Bell and Wood couldn’t be altered by magical means without bursting into thousands of copies of itself. They could reach up and detach it from the ceiling, but would they think about that?

“Nah,” Gabriel said. “Too annoying. It was not my idea, by the way. Blame Gregory.”

Draco would strangle Greg next time he saw him. He flicked his wand and felt the hold of the trap disappear along with the plant. Gabriel then escorted the woman out, and Draco stifled a laugh at the mortified younger woman who waited for her outside.

“Grandma, what the _fuck!_ ” she yelled before the door closed behind the woman’s back.

Gabriel, Draco and Harry watched them Disapparate. 

“Merlin, that was embarrassing,” Gabriel groaned. “I am sorry. Can I help you choose something?” 

“It wasn’t your fault. I’ll take my usual,” Draco said. 

“Sure. I will send the drinks to your table.”

“Merci!” 

To the left of the counter, a wooden staircase led to a balcony offering more privacy than the lonely table in front of the window. Draco always took a seat as far from the door as possible, so after Harry ordered a cinnamon tea, they found a spot upstairs, hidden from view. The photographers had their picture, now the couple needed some peace. Draco removed his winter cloak and sat on the cosy banquette seat. He kept the scarf. “Potter. Why did I not know you spoke French?”

Sheepish, Harry folded his coat and placed it beside him. “I don’t speak it. I understand the context of a conversation if it’s not too complicated. Victoire is very demanding; even Ron speaks it a bit, and he’s terrible at languages. He almost caused an international incident when he was sent to France on that weird Voldemort cult case.” 

That made sense, but Draco still hoped Harry would talk one day. Not that Draco found French sexy—he really didn’t. He’d learned it from the cradle because a Malfoy was expected to be bilingual, and found nothing poetic about the way most people talked nowadays. When Theo, eyes full of hope, had asked Draco to talk dirty to him in French, Draco had taken a northern accent and used local slang, thoroughly ruining the mood. Theo was not amused. However, Draco valued intelligence and various skills; Harry being able to understand a language despite having never taken a lesson in his life was fucking impressive, and Draco liked being impressed. Also, it was _Potter_ ; anything he did worsened Draco’s lust. 

He looked around, likely trying to figure out if they were going to be bothered by anyone if they kissed, but they should be safe. Two old women, utterly lost in each other’s adoring gaze, sat on the other end of the room, and another table was occupied by a quartet of Brazilian tourists and their guide, who didn’t seem to recognise them. 

It seemed like Harry had the same idea since they almost collided when Draco twisted on his seat to kiss him. Their lips met, and only Draco’s reluctance to act inappropriately in public prevented that kiss from turning into a heated snogging session. 

Two mugs, shaped like Santa and an upside-down snowman, waited for them on the table when they parted. A random fleeting thought struck Draco then: he was happy, and he’d never felt better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Translation: "Ça vient de chez Wheezes?" - "It comes from Wheezes?"Back to text  
> 2\. Translation: "Moldu, avec quelques charmes en plus. Tu peux le faire disparaître." - "Muggle, with a few extra charms. You can Vanish it."Back to text


	15. Sweet Friday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: a pair of gloves shaped like hedgehogs)

It was official: Draco could be the sweetest, kindest lover one minute, and a devious imp the next. He enjoyed playing with his food, so to speak, and Harry couldn’t get enough of it. Driven to near-madness, Harry watched him suck on his cock, swallowing every last drop when Harry came, and looking up at Harry with those enchanting silver eyes, reddened mouth stretched wide. Harry could feel himself soften, his hypersensitivity requiring tremendous efforts to keep standing. And because Draco could read him like an open book, he stopped sucking just before it became painful. Shaking, Harry pulled him into a messy kiss. “You,” he bit Draco’s lower lip and drank his gasp, “are spectacular.”

Draco stepped back and smirked. His cock, hard and leaking, was such a mouth-watering sight that if Harry hadn’t known he was bi, the mere sight of it would’ve made him fly out of the closet with a rainbow cape on his back. 

Draco stroked himself, let go, and sat on the bed. “Come on then.”

Harry had no idea how he could still move, but he managed to climb on the bed and sit on Draco’s lap. Draco’s hands roamed up and down his back, fingers dipped between his arse-cheeks and breached him. Harry breathed out and kissed Draco, then tilted his head up when Draco slid into him. Harry was still slightly sore from earlier, but the sensation faded quickly. 

“I’m—I won’t last,” Draco warned.

Harry’s cock rubbed against Draco’s belly, twitching as if it did its absolute best to harden, but failing. Harry lowered himself until Draco was buried as deep as possible, and he let out a shuddering groan. Draco caught his mouth into a kiss and snapped his hips up.

Harry broke the kiss in shock, and Draco flipped him on his back. Holding Harry’s thighs open, he proceeded to fuck him with long, torturous thrusts. Harry’s toes curled each time he found the right angle, his back arched off the bed and he didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. So he just gripped the nearest pillow, trying to bring Draco even closer by crossing his ankles behind his back. Draco lost control of his movements; a drawn-out moan and a jerk of his hips, and he pulled out slowly, before falling against Harry’s chest. 

Harry barked out a laugh and wrapped his arms around him. They rolled onto their side, exchanging a sweet kiss, skin glistening with sweat. Draco’s hair was a mess where Harry had pulled on it. 

“How was that?” Draco murmured, nose to nose with Harry.

“You win the House Cup.”

“Fuck you.”

“Already?” Harry’s laugh was barely more than an exhausted wheeze. “I don’t think we can.” 

Draco attempted to hit him with a pillow, and Harry didn’t have the strength to hit back. He was lulled into a dazed sleep before he could blink. 

Harry woke up alone in a cold and dirty bed, feeling well-rested, so he must’ve dozed off for a good sleep cycle. He confirmed it with a silent _Tempus_ and decided he should probably eat something more substantial than the bowl of soup he’d had for lunch. 

Draco wasn’t in the bathroom either; Harry took a quick shower and wrapped himself in the fluffy bathrobe Lavender had given him for his birthday, before slipping on a pair of clean pyjamas and calling Kreacher. 

“Master Harry has interrupted Kreacher.”

“Ah, sorry. Could you change the bedsheets in Draco’s room? You don’t need to do it right now if you’re busy—”

“Kreacher will clean, and Kreacher will open the window for nasty Masters who are up to things Kreacher does not want to think about.”

Harry had once tried to convince him that yes, Harry himself was capable of cleaning up after himself, and no, Kreacher didn’t need to wash sweaty, stained sheets. Harry had, in the first three years after the war, tried to catch up on a youth that had been stolen from him, and while he hadn’t always brought his partners home for the night, Kreacher’s workload increased quite a bit. But while the senile little bugger complained, he’d been adamant that it was his duty, and that “Master Harry” should not do the washing unless he wanted Kreacher to remove his eyeballs with a spoon. Whether Kreacher meant Harry’s eyeballs or his own, Harry never wanted to find out.

“That’s okay, thank you. Do you know where Draco is?”

“Master Draco is eating.” 

Indeed he was. Harry found him in the kitchen, delicately assembling a sandwich and perusing a Muggle magazine. At the end of the table, Regulus, the cranky Eagle Owl who’d shed feathers everywhere less than a month ago, was fast asleep. Kreacher was in love with the bird and had turned Poor Master Regulus’ bedroom(which was more of a shrine these days) into an owlery as soon as Draco moved in.

“Hey,” Harry hummed, taking a seat and grabbing a piece of bread to start making his own sandwich. Draco nodded, his mouth full. “Huh, smoked salmon. Didn’t know we had any.”

Draco swallowed and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know I made it my mission to fill your cupboards with palatable food. And before you say anything, no, that salmon is not top of the line, nor is it more expensive than that whiskey-and-honey ham you bought last week.”

“I don’t mind.” Honestly, as if money was an issue. “You didn’t like the ham?”

“I did.” Draco tapped his finger on the magazine. “Why do you have a crafts magazine with pictures that don’t even move?”

The page Draco was looking at showed an image of hedgehog-shaped gloves with a long list of instructions and a knitting pattern. Harry smiled and bit into his newly prepared meal. Once he was done chewing his first bite, he explained he’d bought a copy to check if a subscription would be a good gift for Molly. And at the expression on Draco’s face, he realised that yes, Draco planned on meeting the Weasleys and yes, the existence of more gingers beyond Ginny and Ron was sending his brain into overdrive. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, feigning concern. “I’d love it if you came with me to the Burrow for Christmas, but you don’t have to.”

Draco sighed dramatically. “If they kill me, please bury me near the coast somewhere in Brittany.”

“I’ll bring you flowers every year.”


	16. Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:   
>   
> (Image: An ice statue of a dragon)

Draco barely had time to take off his coat and boots before a child raced down the hall with only one sock and his shirt inside-out. “Hi, Draco! Look! I drew a peacock.”

Teddy bounced up and down, holding a scrap of parchment with what looked like a potato with a long neck, drawn in blue and green ink. Draco had become quite adept at pretending to be in awe of Teddy’s questionable artistic talent. “This looks great, why don’t you show Harry?”

He stepped aside and heard a muffled sound indicating that Teddy had thrown himself into his godfather’s arms.

“Why are you all loitering here, close the door, you’re letting the cold in.” Andromeda embraced Draco, who noticed the softness of her thick burgundy jumper and decided he needed one. She seemed a bit younger than when he’d last seen her, and he realised she had hidden her greying hair under a black dye. Grief had taken such a toll on her; she still looked much older than her actual age. “It’s so good to see you, Draco.”

In the background, Teddy was talking about school so fast it was a wonder he could still breathe. 

“I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Nonsense, dear.” She hooked her arm around his elbow. “Your mother is here.”

Draco stopped dead in his tracks. Mother had only left France three times in the past few years and Draco missed her, no matter how many times he’d visited her. It wasn’t the same, having her here in England. He opened his mouth to ask why she hadn’t told him, but Andromeda directed him into the living room before he spoke. And there she was.

France did wonders for Mother’s health. She’d always looked like a queen, but her skin had more colour. Perhaps she was dating someone. She smoothed her velvet gown and left her seat. Her embrace was, as always, like being held by a soft, lavender-scented cloud, and if Draco gripped her arms a little too tight, she didn’t mention it. She stepped back to look at him, running a hand through his hair and placing the other on his cheek. She’d never stopped doing that; Draco’s earliest memories were of those gestures.

Draco’s words came out a little choked up as he asked why she was here, why she hadn’t told him she was visiting.

“Do I need your permission, darling?”

He flushed. That happened too often lately. “It’s just a shock.”

“Ah, of course. Do you know what else is rather shocking?”

He shook his head, a corner of his mind registering that Teddy and Harry now sat nearby, involved in a debate on the merits of raising a colony of Bowtruckles. Children were fascinating creatures. 

“Malfoy Manor, Draco dear,” Mother said. 

_Oh shit._

“Does anyone want a drink?” Andromeda called from the kitchen. 

“MANGO JUICE!” Teddy shouted. 

Draco took the opportunity to run away from his mother’s questions. His aunt would appreciate the help. He heard a tutting sound and grinned a little too brightly, entering the kitchen. “I’ll bring the glasses.”

“Very well. Ah, a flute for Cissa, if you please.”

“You know she’ll find something to say about your champagne.”

“She may try, dear.”

With the glasses full, Draco discovered that Harry had already explained the Manor’s disappearance during Draco’s short absence, so he relaxed on the couch, free from his mother’s persistent interrogation. He listened to Andromeda’s story about Teddy’s antics at school, laughed when the child grimaced and said it wasn’t him who drew poop on a bully’s backpack but that he was angry he hadn’t gotten that idea first. Mother then shared Draco’s most outstanding achievement, the Potter Stinks badges, and Harry added that Draco used to draw little notes for him in class. 

“I kept some of them. You were so talented.”

Draco was burning in shame, but he was also ridiculously proud that Potter had kept something from that time. He sniffed and raised his nose in the air in Malfoyesque fashion. “I’m relieved to learn that you knew their value back then.”

“Did you send him notes to tell him you wanted to kiss him?” 

Draco’s toes curled on the plush carpet, and he had a sudden realisation: he and Harry had been holding hands this whole time. 

So much for discretion. Well, after their outing in Diagon Alley, they’d be on the front page of the _Prophet_ come Monday, unless a special Sunday edition was released tomorrow, so perhaps it was better this way? Mother and Andromeda didn’t seem to mind, only displaying polite curiosity. As for Teddy, love wasn’t an interesting topic yet, and he moved on. What warmed Draco’s heart was that Potter’s grip on his hand didn’t falter at all. 

They didn’t hold hands through the meal—Draco had never been too comfortable with affection in front of family or at the table, and it would’ve been impractical. They did sit close, though. Andromeda had made mushroom bruschetta followed by mouth-watering saltimbocca that made Draco want to worship the ground she walked on. Mother even asked for the recipe, which meant she was willing to set foot in a kitchen. Wonders would never cease.

The discussions switched to Mother’s presence once more, where she informed Draco of her plan to stay here for the winter. She’d gone to the Manor thinking she’d have to put up with the memories, discovered it was gone and had Apparated to her sister’s house to take up residence in Draco’s old room. Good riddance, she’d said. 

“It’s too bad it isn’t cold enough in London to build an ice dragon. Draco loved it,” she continued with a glint in her eye. “But he cried when it melted in the spring.”

“I was a child, Mother, of course, I cried.”

“You were thirteen, dear.”

Teddy’s fork clattered on the plate, but it wasn’t loud enough to mask Harry’s snicker. “I want an ice dragon!”

Draco took a napkin and wiped the tomato sauce Teddy had dropped on the table. “I’ll have you know, Potter, that the Manor’s ice sculptures were quite a sight. Anyone would have wept at their loss.”

“Sure, Draco.”

“Can I see the ice dragon?” Teddy insisted.

“Ah, tell you what, we can go to the Christmas market and see if they have ice statues.” So what if Draco wanted to go back? This was the perfect opportunity. “If they don’t, we’ll go to the Manor, and I’ll try to build one for you.”

“Yay!”


	17. A cranky little gremlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: Four pairs of sock-clad feet by the fireplace)

Teddy loved Winter Wonderland, and Harry couldn’t blame him. Though it looked a little empty at first, by nightfall, the lights came on, and the whole atmosphere changed. There were no statues; it wasn’t cold enough. But there was a small dragon roller coaster that Teddy fell in love with, and Harry got to witness Narcissa’s bafflement at Muggle ingenuity. It was a different experience, seeing it through a child’s eyes. Instead of going from stall to stall and enjoying food (and kisses), Harry and Draco were dragged into a surprisingly creepy haunted mansion—Harry jumped in his seat more than once, and Draco swore he’d never go back in there, but Teddy laughed the whole time.

Narcissa found the carousel charming, and Harry heard her say she wished she’d known those existed when Draco was small. There was such a soft smile on Draco’s lips after that! Harry could barely stand the adoration fogging his brain. Andromeda was smirking, so as soon as Teddy left the carousel, Harry thought the most brilliant idea ever would be to go to the ice rink. He needed to move a little if he wanted to clear his mind enough to stop acting like a fool.

He didn’t think skating would be so hard. But the rental skates were clunky and hurt his feet, and it was a lot harder to stand than what he’d believed. Teddy was much more agile. Draco, the prat, had disappeared with his mother so they could ride the Ferris wheel.

By the time they met up, about twenty minutes later, Harry’s clothes were soaked from spending more time on his arse than on his skates. Teddy was irritable because he was tired and cold, but Draco gave him a bag of candy to improve his mood.

“You bribed my godson,” Harry grumbled, itching to draw his wand and cast a Drying Charm. The wand movement couldn’t be done in a crowd of Muggles, it wasn’t discrete in the slightest. 

“It’s effective.” Draco paused and squeezed Harry’s wrist. “Are you cold?”

“Not at all, I enjoy the feeling of melting ice on my skin. It’s good for my complexion.”

“I suggest we go home, someone is a little cranky,” said Andromeda, who’d just put Teddy’s hat on the child’s head. “Cissy, any preference for dinner?”

“You cooked us a feast earlier, Andi. I’ve heard Muggles deliver food, why not do this?”

Teddy bounced on his feet. “Can we get Indian?” Then he looked back at Harry and Draco, who stood awkwardly as the crowd pushed their way around them. “Can Draco and Harry come too?”

“If they want to, of course.”

Harry was also growing a bit moody, but not enough to want to part from his godson. Draco hadn’t shown any indication of boredom or fatigue yet, so why not?

It turned out to be a grand idea: Andromeda had a massive fireplace. While they undressed in the entrance hall, she lit a fire, and Harry, Draco, Teddy and Narcissa lounged in front of the flames, their feet up to warm their cold socks, which was an odd sight. Andromeda joined them after ordering their food, and she shared stories about her daughter’s fascination with fairs and how risky it was to take her anywhere because she changed her hair colour on purpose when she knew she shouldn’t. At some point, Harry leaned into Draco’s side, and Draco wrapped his arm around him, not that bothered by his family seeing them after all.

“We didn’t see any ice dragon,” Harry whispered in his ear, unwilling to let Teddy hear in case he threw a tantrum. He might be sweet-tempered, but when he was tetchy, he still raised hell.

“True.” Draco rubbed his nose against his cheek while no one was watching. “Manor tomorrow, then? Unless something went wrong, the snow should still be there.”

“Sure. I’ll map the grounds too.”

“As you wish.”


	18. Expecto Patronum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: An ice statue of a deer)

Draco and Harry Apparated on the path leading to what once was the Manor’s gate, and Harry took a few pictures of the gentle shimmer indicating the edge of the wards. He then cast a mapping spell, and Draco pulled on his magical link to the place to allow him through the wards.

“Is that spell a trade secret or?”

“Ah, no. simple mapping probe. Bill taught me. It’ll circle the domain and come back to me, and I’ll extract its data when I’m back at the office.”

Interesting. “Like a Pensieve?”

“More like a satellite.”

What? Draco scrunched his nose. That made no sense. He opened his mouth to ask, but Harry gave him a look that Young and Angry Draco would’ve taken as pity. It still raised his hackles, but he only felt embarrassed, not out of his mind with blind fury.

Harry smiled. “A machine orbiting the planet. It can take pictures from space.”

“You’re kidding me.” But he wasn’t, and Draco knew it. Years ago, the thought of Muggles being intelligent enough to build such a device would’ve caused him to laugh, but he’d grown out of that distorted view of the world. He looked up at the white trails in the blue-grey sky. Those were from planes, and he understood what a plane was. So a satellite would be even higher. “Are they visible?”

“They look kinda like stars, but they move.”

An old memory surged, and Draco drew a quick breath. “Oh, Pansy will freak!” He turned to Harry, who caught the tiny probe in the palm of his hand at the same time. “Pershore was so confused when he saw it, and he told everyone in Slytherin, so we argued for weeks about the speed of comets. Bulstrode must have known, she’s a Half-Blood! That’s why she was laughing so much. Pansy was the only one who saw one through her telescope, but she couldn’t follow it or see what it was, so we all decided it was a comet taking its time.”

“I expect a reward.”

“I can make badges. Potter, Solver of the Mystery of the Slow Comet.”

Harry put the probe in his pocket, bent down, grabbed a fistful of snow and let it fall back to the ground. “I’ll accept it.” He was wearing a grey hat, and Draco loved it, it made him look cuddlier, and it kept his hair away from his face. Harry had such attractive features. Even the scar, with everything it meant, had a certain beauty to it, even if it covered half of his forehead and went down his temple like the odd marks left on someone who’d been struck by lightning. Harry then tilted his head and asked, “Any idea how to make that ice statue?”

With a slow blink, Draco ended his quiet admiration. Truthfully, he had no clue how Mother had made them, but he couldn’t disappoint his cousin. The climate spell would keep the statue from melting until it either malfunctioned or disappeared on its own at the end of March. “I guess we could make a snow dragon, cast _Aguamenti_ over it, then Vanish the snow.”

“Sure, if you want your dragon to look like a potato.”

“Are you doubting my sculpting skills, Potter?”

“Yes.”

Draco exhaled in mock outrage, a hand pressed on his breastbone. “How dare you!” He wiped the triumphant grin from Harry’s face with a quick kiss. “Cast your Patronus.”

“Why?”

“I have not suffered the constant reminders of my humiliating failure to distract you in third year for no good reason. Your Patronus is corporeal. It won’t look like a potato if I freeze water over it.”

Harry’s snort was loud and unrefined. “It’s a stag, not a dragon.”

“And this is just a test. Indulge me.”

As soon as the stag appeared and stopped prancing, Draco cast _Aguamenti_. He repeated the process four times and ended it with _Glacius_. Harry sheathed his wand in that sexy holster he always wore under his right sleeve, and Draco’s satisfied smirk grew.

It worked, and it was beautiful. Now, all they had to do was find someone with a dragon Patronus, but in the meantime, they could make a whole series of ice creatures if their friends accepted an invitation. Draco wondered if they could have their very own Winter Wonderland here; the grounds could be useful while they stood empty. He shared his idea, making Harry’s eyes light up.

“Draco, you’re amazing. When do you want to do this?”

He thought about it for a second. Yule was on the twenty-second, and it was a Saturday, so he’d be busy celebrating in bed, fully expecting Harry to comply with his wishes. The following day, perhaps? Yes, that would work. He said as much.

“Okay, so that gives us one week, and I don't know how we’re going to do this, but I’ll get enough people. I think.”

“Just don’t advertise in the _Prophet_ ,” Draco advised, not that Harry would. The thought of the entirety of wizarding Britain trampling on the grounds amused and horrified him in equal measure. “No need to trigger the panic wards.”

“Prat.”

“Always. Kiss me, Potty.”


	19. Office Shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: people pulling on a party cracker)

As Christmas approached, the office of H.E.A.L.E.R. conformed to the standards required by the Diagon Alley Storefront Association. However, Dennis Creevey still insisted on fitting Minitree with a bauble and added a dozen Christmas crackers in a basket that nobody would ever see. Warrington was not amused by the young man’s eagerness, because in his enthusiasm, he’d bumped against the wall and unhooked the framed “Rules for Dealing With Abandoned Wardstones” that had been a pain to hang there in the first place. The parchment refused to lay flat.

Ona peered into the office from the backroom. “Is he gone?”

“Just in time,” Lavender replied. “Cassius would’ve killed him if he’d stayed a minute longer.” 

“Perfect! Lav, next year, you’re the one handling Mrs Edgecombe. She can’t believe we’re closed next week, and I’ll lose my mind if you make me have this conversation with her again.”

“Think she’ll still be alive? She’s what, a hundred and fifty?”

Harry tuned out their conversation. Every year, H.E.A.L.E.R. took a week off for the holidays, but many customers refused to understand why. It wasn’t like Harry could accomplish much if he took on a case, anyway. Like Malfoy Manor, most of their houses were equipped with a Weather Charm, so all Harry could do was work on the inside of the building. If those people hadn’t wanted to expand their homes, it would’ve worked, but he had yet to encounter a customer who didn’t wish for more space. 

He wasn’t in the mood to deal with them. He wasn’t in the mood to do anything but think about Draco, actually. He had the plans of the Manor on his desk and kept thinking that once it was rebuilt, Draco would leave Grimmauld Place, and his heart clenched painfully at the mere image of waking up alone. Hermione would berate him for his pessimism. She’d likely be right; Draco wouldn’t abandon Harry. Not now. They fit too well together. 

He also tried to lower his stress levels by drinking coffee, and yes, he was aware of the contradiction. 

Draco’s plan to decorate his land was working quite well; many of his and Harry’s friends had offered their help, so Harry and Draco were Apparating to the Manor each time they had a minute to spare, and if it weren’t for Teddy, they’d have cancelled the entire thing after the first few trips: it was exhausting. 

George had been granted access through the wards so he could decorate the remaining trees and shrubs, or Conjure new ones. His magic was strong enough; they’d last for about a month. When word got around, Harry received numerous requests from friends and acquaintances who had children and hoped to bring them there, likely forgetting whose Manor used to stand on that snowy field. Most of Dumbledore’s Army wanted to participate, which was highly ironic.

A sudden popping sound erased any stray thought from Harry’s mind. Warrington and Lavender held the torn half of a cracker with childish glee. 

When Harry, traumatised by war, quit the Aurors less than a year into the training, he’d been at a loss, with no idea what to do with his life. Lavender, similarly affected, became a good friend, so when Harry founded the company in 2003 (and earned a Charms Mastery in-between shared “Teddy-sitting” sessions with Draco), he hired her instantly. Ron still didn’t understand why. He was stuck on the “Won-Won” times, and Lavender herself enjoyed teasing him about it. She was also good at her job; while she wasn’t a Werewolf, the attack left her with more than scars, and her magic evolved. She could feel the earth’s density and composition beneath her feet, a valuable skill when it came to house expansion assessments. Nobody wanted to ruin a home’s foundations because they’d built it on a swampy area.

“Please don’t use those,” said Harry, pointing at the torn cracker. “Dennis would come back and find something else we need to change!” At least Dennis had left the bathroom alone this time.

“Spoilsport!” Lavender Vanished her half cracker. “So, a little bird told me you got a lot more people than you expected for your Malfoy Manor party.”

“And I don’t understand why! I just wanted to make Teddy happy, and now it’s turning into a massive Christmas event with everyone wanting to bring their kids.”

“If you give me Friday off, I can get the ball rolling on food and activities.”

From the office next door, Ona yelled, “Same!” and Harry exchanged a long-suffering look with Warrington.

“Well, looks like we’ll be on our own.”

“Only if I can have another day off instead, and if you invite me to that party.”

“You can come—all of you, by the way, but it’s really going to be just toddlers running everywhere,” Harry warned, before Summoning his planner. “Pick a day after the holidays.” 

“Toddlers or not, I get to see Malfoy stupidly in love, and I want to be here for it.”


	20. Malfoy Manor Winter Wonderland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: A snowy field at night with Christmas lights in the trees and round-shaped clusters of coloured lights on the ground.)

If Draco had been told, after the rise of the Dark Lord, that the laughter of children would brighten the grounds of the Manor again, he wouldn’t have believed it. And if Father had known who would be busy sledging down the hill, or sharing comfort food under a large, magically heated tent right on the spot where the peacock pen used to be, he’d have perished without ever going back to Azkaban. Perhaps Draco would send him a letter. And pictures.

Mother’s dragon Patronus had resulted in the most beautiful ice statue Draco had ever seen; bigger than what she’d created when he was a child. Teddy, in awe, had said it would be his Patronus too because he didn’t want a lame Patronus like Parangyo’s antelope. He wanted one with teeth, thank you very much. 

Chang had created a dozen swans, and Lovegood’s hare had been frozen in various poses. Over the past week, Pansy, Goyle, Zabini, Granger, half of the Weasley clan, all of Harry and Draco’s colleagues, and most of the infamous Dumbledore Army, had chosen to help. Not everyone could; corporeal Patroni were still too rare. But if they couldn’t cast one, they could dig into another talent, and despite the obvious reluctance of some of them, Mother had agreed to show them the neat Transfiguration trick she’d used when Draco was a child. Patronus or Transfigured snow, the result was the same. 

Some of the statues glowed thanks to Professor Flitwick’s Fairy Light Charm, the same that also created a garland of tiny multicoloured lights around those oddly round bushes sprouting all over the place (George Weasley had guaranteed they’d be gone by February. Thank Morgana. They seemed sentient; Draco could’ve sworn he’d seen them hop around). 

Lee Jordan had prepared activities to keep the kids occupied, and Merlin, what a crowd. Many of these children were toddlers, easily distracted, but Jordan kept their attention because that was just the sort of person he was. The tent, a last-minute addition by Parangyo and Brown, was a welcome reprieve from the cold, and the food, cooked by elves or by human hands, received endless praise. 

Draco wasn’t stupid. This event would be a tremendous boost to his reputation. These suspicious glances he’d earned by gracing the front page of the _Prophet_ a week ago were nowhere to be seen, though he knew Harry’s friends didn’t all agree with his dating choices. He’d been apprehensive about allowing these people through the wards, and not just because they might hex him behind his back, but if he paid close attention, he could hear it. 

Magic was vibrating. Mother had said, once, “Magic feeds off magic, but it doesn’t satisfy her. Do you know what does, sweetheart? Joy. Love. Laughter.”

These people’s happiness nourished a land scarred by violence, bigotry and hatred. Without the snow under his feet, Draco knew he’d feel that energy radiating from the dirt. Soon, perhaps, he’d hear the fabled song of the past, when magic was everywhere and spoke to the gifted. He stood up from the bench he’d been sharing with Goyle, struck by the need to check something. 

Leaving Harry in the company of six Slytherins, he Apparated away from the festivities, to the boathouse. The sun would set soon, but he didn’t need more light yet. 

He rummaged under the bed, unable to see anything until he touched the small box he’d hidden there under several Notice-Me-Not and Repelling Charms. Not that anyone could touch it without his consent; familial artefacts of that sort were impossible to steal without their owner’s approval. _Imperius_ wouldn’t work, as the item would know. Once he had a hold on it, he dragged it out of its dark hiding place and sat on the bed to open the box. 

He expected the usual polished stone, almost black with a shimmer of silver, but he was instead met with the most gorgeous fire opal. The Malfoy Crest shone in its centre. 

Draco turned it in his hand, catching the remaining light coming through the window and smiling at the colours he could see. Some purple, some yellow. A lot of red and a hint of green. “Figure I’d inherit a Gryffindor wardstone.”

Amused, he locked it in the box again and put it back under the bed. 

All of this had happened because of a single wish. Perhaps there had been more to it. What if magic had understood that deep down, Draco didn’t only want to get rid of a house rotten by darkness? That he’d wanted to be happy? What if Vanishing the Manor had been the only way magic could find to force Harry and Draco to spend more time together?

No matter what, Draco was grateful. 

He left the boathouse to find his boyfriend again, and when he did, he hugged him and kissed him in full view of their friends and families. 

Teddy’s disgusted groan could be heard nearby, and of course, Cassius bloody Warrington muttered something about blackmail material and Draco’s dignity.


	21. Hold him closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: A beach. There's a Santa hat on the ground and someone wrote Merry Christmas in the sand.)

“I’m _still_ cold!” Draco whined. 

Harry hummed in agreement, Vanishing the melted snow from the entrance hall. During their outing in Wiltshire, the weather had taken a sudden turn for the worst in London, and the streets were now covered with a thin sheet of slushy, dirty snow. “Kreacher, did you turn off the heater?”

“Kreacher heard Masters complain about being too hot, so Kreacher _listened_.”

“Please never listen in on us when we’re locked in the bedroom!” 

“Kreacher will no longer listen and no longer bring refreshments to Masters after Masters are done being inappropriate.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing, fiend.”

Kreacher cackled and left. Walking quickly past the wall that used to hold Walburga’s portrait, Draco rubbed his arms and cast a Warming Charm. Harry followed close behind. “Bath?”

“Hell no!” With a full-body shudder, Draco entered the living room and flicked his wand in the air. “ _Accio_ every fleece blanket!”

Harry jumped aside to let the mountain of fabric zoom past him and throw itself at Draco, pushing him hard enough that he fell on the floor, all tangled up. Harry couldn’t help it and snorted loudly, then helped his sputtering boyfriend and carried the blankets to the sofa. “Come on,” he patted the seat beside him. Sulking, Draco joined him, and they spent the next minute rearranging the blankets around their bodies. 

Kreacher brought them tea and dry socks. 

“Today was amazing. Thanks for letting me invite my friends.” Harry settled more comfortably. “We should spend a few weeks on an island somewhere in the Pacific next winter. We’ll wear Santa hats on the beach and write Merry Christmas in the sand,” he murmured in Draco’s ear, holding him close. Draco had bought a new shampoo, and Harry loved the smell and the silky quality it gave to his hair.

Draco snuggled closer. “You picture us together in a year?” There was undeniable hope under a tone he was trying to keep casual, so Harry kissed his nose and rubbed his back, emboldened.

“And many years after that, yeah.”

Draco stood on his knees, wearing two blankets like a cape, and grabbed Harry’s shoulders. “I’m going to kiss you, and do so many things to you tonight that you won’t remember your own name, so I hope you can keep up.”

Harry grinned. “You’ll regret this.” And he pounced first. 

The chill of the room didn’t last, and soon Draco’s back glistened with sweat. Harry was a bit rougher than he’d been before but paid close attention to Draco’s body language to ensure he enjoyed every moment of this, especially after he came and was so sensitive. Harry had honed his observational skills from years of spying on him, and it was second-nature to be aware of the smallest tension in his shoulders, even as he slid in and out of him. Draco had tried to stay in one position, holding himself up, but he’d abandoned that idea and was now laying on his stomach with one of the blankets muffling his voice. He was so, so beautiful. Harry would never get tired of this.

“I need to see you—” Draco gasped as Harry slammed into him faster, pulled out, flipped him around and slid back inside in one long, slow, agonising movement. Draco yelped, his spent cock laying against his stomach. “ _Fuck!_ ”

“You’re so gorgeous,” Harry groaned, hardly able to believe that this man was his. Draco’s torso was red as he panted in exhaustion, his nipples erect, tantalising—Harry stopped moving so he could lean down and suck on them. Draco crossed his legs behind Harry’s back and pushed his head away, and Harry grinned and kissed him, thrusting again until he felt his orgasm coming. Harry moaned into Draco’s mouth. The tension left his body; he kept kissing Draco, never wanting to stop, relishing in the sensation of Draco’s fingers in his hair. 

“Still cold?” he breathed out, a bead of sweat falling from the tip of his nose.

Draco chuckled. “No, but please warm me up again later.”

A muffled voice interrupted them from behind the closed door: “Do Masters still need the heater?”

Harry dropped his head on Draco’s chest and smothered hysterical laughter.


	22. A Quiet Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: A Yule log)

The twenty-fourth of December was a sunny but windy day; Draco decided to enjoy the sun while it lasted, and he dragged a chair near the window of the library. He hadn’t taken the time to really go through the books Harry hadn’t gotten rid of, because he’d been busy with work-sex-cuddles-going for walks with Harry. But today, he’d woken up worrying about his impending doom: the official invitation to spend Christmas Eve at the Weasley’s (brought to him by the tiny owl that he’d found so very cute at Hogwarts). And, true to himself, he wanted to drown his stress into a book, preferably something calming, like the one about the growth rate of lemon balm which emitted a lemony scent from page 5 to 10. It was a better way to deal with his emotions than what he’d often done in the past, which was stuff his face with something sweet, like the Yule log he’d devoured all on his own in fifth year because the Dark Lord was supposed to visit. He’d never looked at a Yule log the same way ever again. 

Mother had told him that a three-year-old Cousin Regulus had made a similar mistake, stealing a jar of pickles while the adults were busy enjoying the “boring part of the holidays” (aka that stretch of time between lunch and dinner). He’d hid in a corner and proceeded to eat every single pickle in one sitting and was miserable for the next twenty-four hours. Following this incident, he’d never been able to even think about eating a pickle.

Draco didn’t know if it was something all children did (Teddy had gotten sick on cherries once) but at least Cousin Regulus had been a toddler! Draco had no excuse. He also regretted telling this story to Potter a few years ago when they babysat together. The list of Draco’s childhood antics could span several books, and he was lucky Mother never published the diaries she kept since he’d been in the womb. Not to mention, Potter would absolutely buy the whole collection, and then there would be an awkward discussion about the Dursleys, and Draco would need to be restrained before he headed to Number 4, Privet Drive and committed a crime. 

Idly, he wondered if Harry had been able to find the last-minute gifts he’d gone out in the Muggle world for. Draco had everything because he’d planned ahead, like a good Slytherin who knew that to brave the crowds—wizarding or Muggle—today, one had to have a death wish.

He’d gotten his hands on a good bottle of wine to thank Molly and Arthur Weasley for inviting him, but hadn’t gone any further. Nobody would give him anything today, and he didn’t want them to feel pressured to reciprocate. No, the presents he’d gathered would be either sent by owl (and Regulus was eager to start) or distributed tomorrow at Andromeda’s.

Mother would love her new scarf and Andromeda would be grateful for the set of cutlery—she’d complained that her current one had sharp edges and bent too easily. Teddy would, hopefully, fall in love with his Apprentice Potioneer Kit Volume II. Harry—well, there were a few enchanted lubes and massage oils Draco would give him in private, thank you very much, but Draco had also asked the Hogwarts Headmistress if she could send him every detention slip from the Marauders, minus Pettigrew. He’d bound them into an entertaining book he’d titled Almanac of Mischief. Harry didn’t care for _things_ , he cared about people, memories and feelings. 

The lack of money had taken some pressure off the gift-giving process. No one expected Draco to outdo himself every year anymore, not even Pansy, who would have to contend with a new set of makeup. Not that Wood didn’t pay him well, but nobody earning an average salary would buy a Firebolt III as a Christmas gift.

And his thoughts circled back to the Burrow and what would happen if someone did indeed choose to bestow a gift upon him, and no, he wouldn’t go down this rabbit hole, he didn’t need the additional anxiety.

Finding a book about Muggle Christmas tales (definitely acquired by Potter to read to Teddy), Draco deemed it good enough to distract him, and settled down to read in a beam of sunlight. 


	23. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: Two mugs of mulled cider/wine)

If one was looking to experience true chaos, the Burrow would be an excellent place to start. And if one needed to introduce a Muggleborn to what mundane, everyday magic could do, then one should look no further than Molly’s kitchen.

Harry had called this house his home for months following the Battle of Hogwarts. He’d found understanding, warmth and unconditional love among his favourite clan of gingers, even when they all grieved. At no point had he ever felt out of place, even at the very beginning when Molly noticed Fred’s immobile handle on the family clock. They’d all mourned together, and they’d healed one another. Molly had taught Harry every household spell she knew, Ron had taken up knitting, and by the time Harry chose to leave, some measure of happiness had returned to the Burrow. 

There would always be pain, but they’d all chosen to remember the good times, and Harry had to admit it helped. This Christmas, the sorrow was a mere flicker, quickly smothered by the laughter of small children. 

The house didn’t need any decoration to be festive; the noise, the various WWW products George had sneaked under his mother’s nose, the presence of so many people casting colourful spells to amuse the children, the mismatched tableware Molly only used when she ran out of plates—it was enough.

Harry had shown Draco around after a nerve-wracking introduction, and Draco had promptly been given his very own Weasley jumper depicting a dragon eating a giant parsnip. Molly had cooked a feast, serving Draco three times because he was too thin and making Harry, Ron and Ginny snicker. It was a wonder Draco could still move afterwards. He’d collapsed on a worn couch next to Charlie and hadn’t budged since. He hadn’t talked much either, but he’d watched the kids tear into their presents with a small smile on his face, and he'd let Harry wrap him in an embrace after Harry discovered his gift and was too choked up to speak. The embrace didn't last; after all, Harry knew, from having experienced Molly’s feeding frenzies, that Draco must’ve been a bit sick. So he stayed by his side, careful not to move him, listening to Gabriel’s stories. Victoire and baby Dominique, Bill and Fleur’s daughters, hung onto his every word.

Little Fred, who’d recently learned to walk, was toddling around the living room with his mum close behind in case he lost his balance. For a minute, Harry missed Teddy fiercely, but he buried the feeling as fast as he could. It was nonsense. He’d see him tomorrow. 

“Mulled wine?” Arthur asked from behind the couch.

Harry turned around and nodded, grabbing a red mug from the tray Arthur was holding. He’d hated mulled wine at first, but Arthur had become quite good at preparing it over the years. The cinnamon stick and the slice of orange were a nice touch. “Want any?” he asked Draco, who had closed his eyes a few minutes earlier. He wasn’t sleeping; Harry could tell by the set of his mouth. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” Draco answered between gritted teeth. “Ask me again after I’ve digested, please.” 

“Your loss.” He drank a sip. An Aviatomobile flew above his head, prompting Draco to mutter about Harry and Ron’s stupidity because of course, everyone who’d been at Hogwarts with them knew the story of the flying car. 

“So.” Charlie smacked his hands on his thighs, startling Harry and Draco. “Nice picture in the _Prophet_ , you two.”

“Charlie!”

“Mum, you’ve framed it.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he heard Draco’s quiet gasp. Molly blushed and tutted, then turned her warm gaze on them. “It’s such a good picture, dears.”

Draco’s hand squeezed Harry’s, and Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat. Then Molly gestured to their right, and Harry saw the wall holding the best family pictures taken since Molly and Arthur’s marriage.

Babies, graduations, birthdays, special events, the trip to Egypt, a lone photo of Harry and Ron playing chess—and amidst all of them, Draco and Harry smiling at each other in utter adoration under the mistletoe in the corner of Goyle’s shop.

“Oh, Harry,” Molly sighed, before wrapping him up in an embrace. “Of course we’re happy for you both.” Harry hadn’t even realised his eyes were wet. He buried his face in Molly’s shoulder, then felt Draco’s arms slide around his waist. 

When Molly let go of him, he leaned against Draco, who didn’t look like he was about to hurl anymore and had lost that edge of nervousness he’d tried to hide all day. Neither Draco nor Harry said a word, but Harry could imagine his relief.

An hour later, when Ron and Ginny were trying to stall Molly’s questions about their own love lives, Harry brought Draco to the garden. They both had a fresh mug of mulled wine, though Draco wasn’t drinking it too fast and would likely not finish it. 

“I want to travel back in time and knock some sense into myself,” Draco said.

Harry kissed his warm cheek and rubbed his back, then looked at the stars. “You know better now.”

“I should hope so. I understand why you love them.”

_One day, you’ll love them too_ , Harry thought. Far above them, a light moved, and Harry smiled as he remembered Draco’s story about the slow comet. “Kiss me? No one’s watching.”

Draco grinned and pressed his lips against Harry’s. 

In the list of best Christmases of Harry’s life, this one ranked at the top.


	24. Whenever I'm alone with you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: a decorated Christmas tree in a living room)

The Yule tree (okay, fine, it had been a Yule tree for Yule, now it was a Christmas tree) was not flamboyantly gay with rainbow paint, which would be a shame if Harry hadn’t been so fascinated by its flickering lights. He was trying to appear collected like any adult would, but Draco knew that look. Draco had seen the wonder on his face each year when Hogwarts was decorated for Christmas, and it had been something he would’ve expected from a small child, not from a teenager. 

Draco asked, despite knowing the answer: “Why are you smiling like that?” He hugged Harry from behind and kissed the back of his neck.

Potter leaned back, relaxing into his arms. “It’s the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen, that’s all.”

Draco disagreed. Sure, it was lush and thick and not as gaudy as it could have been, but that was it. Not to mention, it had been there on Saturday already, it wasn’t _new_. “The ones we had at Hogwarts were more impressive.”

Snorting, Potter turned around, and Draco played with a very stubborn curl falling over his faded scar. His glasses reflected the lights from the tree. “You’re being dense on purpose.”

“I am not dense.”

“Okay, then why do you think I said that?” Potter smirked, and Draco was overwhelmed by the need to be closer to him, so he nuzzled the crook of his neck and tightened his embrace, rewarded by Harry’s arms strengthening their hold on him. 

And suddenly, it made sense, and Draco rolled his eyes and tilted his head. “It’s sappy, isn’t it?”

“Five points to Slytherin.” His hand rested on the small of Draco’s back, firm and strong. “We decorated it together, so excuse me for loving it.”

“Did you like Andromeda’s tree, too?”

“Why do you think I couldn’t stop laughing?”

Teddy had some peculiar conception of what looked good, and he’d hung glittery glass shrimps, tiny wooden cars and butt-naked cherubs side-by-side on the branches. Draco still couldn’t get over Mother’s horror, though from having seen Teddy’s creations in previous years, he hadn’t been that surprised. The difference now was that the little gremlin did it on purpose. 

Gesturing towards their tree, Draco broke the embrace. “Think we should enjoy it a little, then? Especially if we spend Christmas in the tropics next year. I mean, tinsel on a palm tree just wouldn’t be the same thing.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Wait for me? I’ll get us a drink.” 

Draco sat on the couch, flushing a little at the memories of what they’d done on it so many times this week, and he watched the lights on the tree blink on and off. His feet were sore from standing around so much, and his head hurt a bit because Teddy had been so noisy when he opened his presents. It was over now, and wasn’t that kind of a relief? Merlin knew Draco loved his family, but an entire afternoon at Andi’s house with a kid running around with too much sugar in his veins was exhausting. Still, he’d often disliked the moment where the party ended. There was something sad about the sudden silence once everyone had left or gone to bed. Something lonely. Melancholic. He felt a hint of that right now, but he could hear Harry moving things around in the next room, and it kept those emotions at bay. Draco focused on that, then replayed the holidays in his head. 

Harry’s incandescent happiness at the Burrow yesterday had contaminated Draco, who hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off him. Harry had explained about the strange clock on the wall, about the gnomes in the garden and the ghoul in the attic, with so much fondness, so much love… and now they were back here, in a home where Harry’s godfather had been miserable his entire life, where he’d been kept captive to avoid being caught by the Ministry—a dark and depressing house, no matter how much work Harry had done on it. 

Draco frowned. He wanted Harry to have a home like the Burrow, and he wanted to share it with him. It just so happened that he owned a vast, barren plot of land at the moment. How very convenient. 

“Draco, Baileys or Kahlúa?”

Draco shouted his answer through the wall and went right back to plotting like any good Slytherin would. Now was the time for grand gestures; his second gift of the day was ready. 


	25. ...you make me feel like I'm home again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❄️Happy Holidays! ❄️  
> Prompt for this chapter:  
>   
> (Image: tangled multicoloured lights)

Harry was still emotional about the incredible Almanac of Mischief, and he wondered what else Draco had gotten him that required going back outside. Thank Merlin he hadn’t given him the book yesterday at the Burrow, because Harry would’ve bawled in front of way too many people. Narcissa, Andromeda and Teddy witnessing his tears had been enough.

Harry thought a sleepy Draco was the cutest thing ever, and that included the moody, cranky man he turned into when he woke up too early. Draco was like a cat; perhaps his Animagus form would be one. He enjoyed sleeping, lazing around or napping, and wasn’t keen on going to bed after midnight. Christmas had tired him out even more than usual, and Harry had expected him to doze off on his shoulders. Yet it was past his bedtime when he’d asked Harry if they could go to the Manor again. Draco had sounded solemn and Harry, intrigued, had agreed to go back outside in the cold and call the Knight Bus since he could still feel a pleasant buzz after drinking.

Neither got sick during the ride; a miracle, for sure. But after going through the wards, Harry couldn’t help but think that if it hadn’t been so freaking cold, Draco would’ve fallen asleep right here and then. Harry held him close, and let him lead the way towards the boathouse, the snow cracking under their feet.

It was so quiet. No wind, no animals, just the sound of their steps. The night was clear, the stars breathtaking, away from any artificial source of light. Harry tried to recognise a few constellations, though he’d never paid much attention in Astronomy. He didn’t know why Draco wanted to be there tonight, but he loved every second of it. “Thanks for bringing me here,” he whispered in Draco’s ear. “It’s lovely.”

“Of course, it is. Perhaps we’ll even witness a Slow Comet.”

“Ah, not tired enough to lose your snark?”

“You, Potter, seem determined to ruin this moment. _Alohomora_.”

Harry followed him inside the boathouse. Above the frost-covered windows, a string held a series of multicoloured magical lights, which must’ve been placed there by the gamekeeper since they had gathered an impressive layer of dust. Harry almost slipped on the thin sheet of ice covering the wooden floor. Merlin, good thing Draco was no longer staying here!

“So, I was thinking,” Draco said, turning around to face him. His nose and the tip of his ears were bright red.

“Did you bring me here for nefarious purposes?”

“Prat.” He drew him close for a kiss, which Harry was happy to give him. “Listen. The Manor.”

“Did you decide what to do with it?”

“Mh. I have a plan.” Draco crouched by the bed and started rummaging under it, then stood back up with a box in his hand. “Hold out your hands.” Curious, Harry obeyed, and Draco flipped the box over.

A vibrant orange, almost glittering stone with a carving of the Malfoy Crest fell into his open palms, and Harry froze. “Oh my gods Draco what are you doing!” The wardstone! This nutter had just broken the golden rule of ancestral lands! And Harry could feel the magic take hold, that tingling sensation, so similar to the rush of joy from his Patronus, so welcoming, so soft. “These are your ancestral wards, you can’t just—”

“I want them to be yours too.”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. “You—what?” He must have misheard. Draco wouldn’t commit to such a permanent bond yet. Right?

But Draco had to be aware of the gesture’s significance. Delicate fingers wrapped around Harry’s and forced him to close his fist around the stone. Then Draco kissed him and pressed the tip of his freezing nose against his cheek. “Look, I know Grimmauld belongs to you, but I’ve seen the way you look at the Burrow, and I thought—what if you let magic build us a cottage on the Manor grounds? A cute house in the middle of that massive land, just for us?”

Harry blinked back tears. That sounded like a dream. He wasn’t asleep, was he? “I don’t know what to say,” he murmured in a strangled voice, his lips still close enough to feel Draco’s.

“Just say yes.”

“But what about you? Don’t you want your space, your marble floors?”

“Harry, there’s nothing I want more than a cosy home to share with you. What would we do with a giant house? It’s always cold, and it’s creepy at night. As long as it doesn’t look like it’s made out of cardboard and isn’t cluttered, I’ll love it.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m in.” He breathed out and let out a watery laugh. “I—Magic would take your land’s history and your tastes into consideration, so it wouldn’t look shabby. We can have a dog, and, maybe we can do something with all this space. Like, fruit trees and a Quidditch pitch. And another Winter Wonderland. But not next year, because we’re going to the tropics, and I’m rambling, please stop me.”

Draco played with a loose strand of Harry’s hair, twirling it around his fingertips. “When I was small, we had horses. I’d love to ride around the grounds with you.”

“No peacocks?”

“If they’re roasted and served with decent wine, sure.”

Harry couldn’t let go of the wardstone anymore, he didn’t want to. He kissed Draco breathless, unable to figure out what else he should do, and happier than he had ever been. He’d never be alone again; Draco had given him the most wonderful Christmas present.

All Harry could do now was tell him he loved him in-between kisses, and he felt Draco smile and respond in a whisper,

“Love you too, Golden Boy.”

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this chapter and the previous one is from _Love Song_ by The Cure.  
> \---  
> I'd like to thank everyone who read along, and everyone who will be reading this now that it's complete! I love you all! Thanks also to everyone on the 25 days Discord for making this such a lighthearted, stress-free experience, and to the mods for organising it and being so supportive. I can't wait to finally read [everyone's work](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/25_Days_of_Draco_and_Harry_2020)! ❤️  
> \---  
> I'm on Tumblr @ [PenguinAnimagus](https://penguinanimagus.tumblr.com/)


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